


a ball of clay

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Gen, Guns, M/M, Minor Character Death, Older Oswald, Weapons, age gap, non-descriptive violence, or at least the prologue to one, this is blatantly a sugar daddy au, younger Ed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-02-09 01:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12877113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Ed Nygma finds himself fresh out of college and without any prospects when he starts working for Penguin's empire, only to find his job description change rapidly in the blink of an eye.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daisiestdaisy (Doyle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doyle/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Daisy!

There's a particular kind of insubordination that the Penguin normally categorizes under a special category he likes to call the ‘under no circumstances’ category. Everyone's punishment is equal from the lowest of grunts to the highest lieutenant; if he ever catches a soul spying on his confidential work they are to be executed, by whatever means he deems necessary at the time, and there are to be no exceptions.

“I suppose you don't know how much of this he got his grubby little hands on,” Penguin says, looking up at Zsasz from his distribution papers, contemplating burning the lot of them and starting fresh. They've been seen, which means they're no longer confidential, which means this, this grunt, this peon under the Penguin’s empire, could potentially relay the information to the highest bidder.

“I told you to stop leaving them out,” Zsasz says with an attitude normally reserved for someone else's employees, but Penguin merely grumbles. “He only got to them for five minutes.”

“That's five more than anyone is allowed,” Penguin snaps. “Who is he exactly?”

“Ed Nygma. New guy with that forensics background you wanted,” he says, as if this is something he asked for, “you know, that squirrely guy with the glasses.”

He doesn't, but he still nods along as if he does, until something catches his eye on the corner of one page. Zsasz is rambling about something inconsequential, vying for creative control of some sort, but Penguin stands and begins shuffling the pages about, matching up drawn on lines and scribbled words until he finds himself looking at a crude, hand-drawn map overlaying his distribution forms.

“Incredible,” he whispers. “You said he had five minutes?”

Zsasz's mouth snaps shut and he frowns, but he doesn't mention the interruption. “I didn't time it exactly.”

“Yes, I get that, but he couldn't have had longer? Maybe another five minutes? Or a half hour?” Zsasz shakes his head. “You’re certain?”

“Don't you have video surveillance in the club?”

“I am trying to make sense of what I'm seeing!” he shouts. Penguin takes a calling breath and pivots his approach. “Where is he?”

“Holding.” Zsasz grins at him. “Couple of the guards roughed him up a little. Got ahold of these too.” He pulls a pair of slightly bent glasses out of his pocket.

“Give me those,” he snaps. He handles them carefully to avoid bending them further. “And find those men. I'll have a few choice phrases prepared for them once I'm done.”

Oswald is nearly to the door of his office when Zsasz calls out, “so you're not letting me kill him?”

He makes sure to finish rolling his eyes before turning back around. “Take a good look. That young man managed to streamline my entire distribution system in five minutes, something none of the imbeciles before him could manage even with several weeks at their disposal. If any of your men did any lasting damage to the brain that managed this feat you can kill as many of the perpetrators as you like.”

-

Holding has always been a generous term for the only closet near the kitchens with a sturdy door and deadbolt, but they’ve had to make due with the existing infrastructure rather than gut an entire restaurant and build it from the ground up. As it stands the door is still solid enough to keep wiry young men trapped behind them; despite said young man’s impaired vision Penguin takes a moment to straighten his tie in the closest reflective surface before unlocking the door and leering down at the sorry sight he finds there.

He’s bruised and bloodied, with a swollen right cheek and bleeding nose, and for whatever reason he’s missing one of his shoes. This man, Ed something, scrabbles along the floor until his back hits a wall near a shelf full of paper products. It causes him to cough, and a few speckles of blood are on his palm when he takes his hand away. The first thing he says is, “oh crap,” followed by some cowed murmurs to himself and a belated, “Mr. Penguin, sir, I,” he gulps around some obvious distress but he maintains what must be very blurry eye contact with Penguin. “I can explain, please-”

Penguin holds up a single finger and his mouth snaps shut. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, still peering up at Penguin, pleading with wide, terrified eyes. He’s rather meek, but no, that’s not the whole picture. He’s made no attempt to stand up or gain the upper hand, and with his legs he certainly could get a height advantage if nothing else. He’s being  _ subordinate _ , baring his belly in a show of submission to his obvious superior.

He does love seeing such promise in such a young, moldable employee. Penguin allows himself a bit of theatrics as he produces a pristine handkerchief from one of his breast pockets and actually kneels in front of the man to offer it to him. “Clean up your face,” he instructs. Ed’s hand is shaking as he reaches out for the handkerchief; he does his best to mop up his face without any available sink. “Now, you were going to explain something to me. Try it a bit calmer this time.”

Ed blinks those long lashes of his over the edge of the handkerchief and swallows with a grimace. “Mr. Penguin-”

“Penguin or sir,” he demands. “And introduce yourself to a superior.”

“Yes sir,” he says, “Edward Nas-Nygma. Ed Nygma.” He sighs. “Forensics. Or, I know forensics.”

“Move along, Ed,” he says calmly. “Important details first. If I need to know more I’ll ask.” He nods. “You were in my office.”

“I’m sor-”

Penguin holds up his hand. “Ed, is mindless groveling the important details I want? No,” he shakes his head, and Ed mimics him. “Who sent you to my office?”

“No one,” he says. “I-” he gasps and snaps his mouth shut again before he can add any embellishments.

“And yet one of my guards found you there.” Penguin hums. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how egregious I find that sort of bold behavior.” He snatches the handkerchief out of Ed’s worrying hands and takes a moment to gently dab at some of the wet blood still under Ed’s nose; Ed is understandably thunderstruck. “Under normal circumstances I would have already killed you. I need you to understand that. I’m not against my employees having initiative,” he adds, “although you’ll want to brush up on the difference between being a self-starter and having a death wish.”

“Mr. Pen-, sir-”

“Hush,” Penguin says lightly. “You’re lucky I’m observant. Do you know just how long I’ve been prodding my lieutenants to solve the problem you did in mere minutes?” he asks rhetorically, scoffing at the general ineptitude he’s had to put up with all this time. He stops dabbing at Ed’s face long enough to hand over his glasses, smiling once Ed’s vision is restored. “Now I for one will not look at the gift that’s been dropped right in front of me, although we’re going to need to make a few changes,” he trails off a bit and uses his free hand to muss Ed’s abysmal haircut. “This won’t do,” he says. Then he notes the general style Ed seems to be bringing to the table and nearly cringes. He  _ does  _ like his employees moldable, he’s just not used to working with such fresh clay. “Come,” he snaps, rising to his full height and offering a hand to help Ed do the same. He looks up at Penguin with such honest, raw adoration; he grasps Penguin’s hand and rises to stand beside him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

Penguin tuts and frets as he circles Ed like he's a particularly tasty piece of meat. His posture is better, supported by the sturdy, stiff back of the hairdresser's chair, but his gaze continues to be demure and cowed. Ed manages to meet Penguin's eyes for brief flashes as he passes in front of him, only to return his attention to the floor.

“Ed, what did I tell you on the way over here?”

“Mr,” there's a long pause as he catches himself slipping into the doubly formal speech again, “Penguin. Penguin, you said several things-”

“Eye contact,” he interrupts. “Just because your glasses are off getting repaired it doesn't mean you can't afford proper respect.”

“Yes sir,” he says around a nervous gulp, and he tilts his gaze up from the floor and centers it around Penguin's collar bone. He'll let it slide this once given Ed's lack of vision.

“We are here to update your image. I take great pride in having well groomed, stylish associates, and you will be no exception.” Penguin smiles as he stalks a bit closer into what must be within Ed's reduced field of vision, because he slides his eyes up Penguin's chest and to his eyes. “I've brought you to the best hairdresser Gotham has to offer to make that happen.”

“He'd know that if you'd let me start,” the woman Penguin has only ever known as Snips criticizes his attempts to calm the new worry lines off Ed's face. She doesn't bother looking up at his glare from her bench, too busy disinfecting some combs and cleaning her trademark red handled scissors.

“Patience,” he says. “I'm envisioning the perfect cut and style while you fuss over your equipment.” He smiles genuinely at Ed and puts his hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, Ed, what level of effort are you used to expending in the morning to achieve,” he uses his other hand to gently tousle Ed's disaster of a hairstyle, “this?”

“I uh, sir, I shower at night and just,” he bites his lip, “comb it once it's dry.”

Penguin closes his eyes and absorbs the blow like a champ. “Yes, that makes sense based on the current lack of style, but don't you worry,” he assures him, “Snips here will get you looking presentable in no time.”

It's as if he summoned her, because she steps up behind Ed and starts touching his hair. The corner of his mouth twitches but he remains still. “You don't usually bring such a blank canvas my way.”

“It comes with a qualifier I'm afraid,” Penguin sighs. “You're _certain_ you won't make the switch to contacts?” Ed shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Square frames, large. If they weren't currently broken they'd be here, but-”

“I don't need them.”

“Excellent,” Penguin smiles. He steps back a bit and takes a moment to really picture what he wants out of Ed's new hairstyle. “How do you feel about pommade?”

Ed gets a rather precious deer in the headlights look. “That's,” he trails off, “what exactly, sir?”

“For hair styling honey,” Snips says. Ed's confusion shifts into something closer to dismay. Her next question is directed at Penguin. “Just how high maintenance do you want this look to be?”

“I'm not really-”

“Ed, I am the one she asked,” Penguin says. Ed presses his lips together into a thin line, staring up at Penguin with those wide, pleading eyes. Penguin sighs. “I told you I would allow for three vetoes no questions asked. You really want to use up another so soon?”

“Yes, please,” Ed sighs with relief.

“No pommade,” Penguin says unenthusiastically. He grabs Ed's chin and turns his head side to side. “I still expect perfection, pommade or no.” He hums and uses his other hand to gently follow the shell of Ed's ear with his pointer, tucking the hair as he does. “Give him an undercut.”

Ed draws in a shaky breath. “Wh-a what? I don't-” Penguin holds up a hand.

“If you'd let me start I’m sure I can make everyone happy,” Snips says, clearly as tired as Penguin.

“Unless everyone's forgotten we are here to give me what I want, not make a compromise.” He closes his eyes and puffs out his cheeks for a moment, expelling the penthouse up air in one frustrated huff. “And we are here to remedy this atrocious haircut I assume you've had for most of your life. You may veto the pommade or the undercut. Not both. Understand? You're lucky I've given you any vetoes at all.”

Ed's eyes flutter as he looks away, but when he looks up again he at least appears confident as he says, “I’ll get the undercut. No pommade.”

“Between you and me,” Penguin whispers in his ear, “I have a _very_ good feeling about an undercut. Excellent choice.”

-

The tea Penguin was given the moment they stepped into the tailor shop is lukewarm and under steeped. He hasn't put in the effort to dump it out or foist it upon one of the various staff, too busy watching the master tailor measure Ed's lanky frame with a tape measure. It's because of his youth, Penguin supposes, although a light workout regimen will do wonders to fill out his frame. In the meantime his tailor will be able to at least make him presentable if not downright handsome.

“I hope you understand I won't be allowing vetoes here. This man,” Penguin gestures to the tailor, “is an absolute genius. He wouldn't allow you to set foot outside of this shop if he didn't think he's done his best.”

“I've never had a suit,” Ed gushes. He bends his neck to the side to watch as the tailor measures the outside of his leg. The shortened shag of his new hair, still fluffy and light from the blow drying and cut, falls in front of his eyes, but Penguin can still see the wide smile on his face.

“Even if you had you've never had a suit from this man,” Penguin preens as he puts a friendly hand on his tailor’s shoulder, smiling at the diminutive man as he straightens from measuring Ed's inseam. “Stunning work, really. You'll be able to work your magic on my new associate I'm sure.”

“This won't even be a challenge,” he coos at Penguin. “Such a handsome young man under all that discount cotton.”

Ed bites his lip up on the measuring platform, but it doesn't keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, or a blush from reaching his now visible ears.

“And he's not even in one of your suits,” Penguin coos right back, glancing over and smirking when he sees how much Ed's blush has deepened.

-

“I have one more thing to complete your new look,” Penguin says as he reaches into a paper bag at his side. Ed turns away from the driver's side window in the back of Penguin's lavish limousine to watch him pull out a small box and place it in his hands. “All of my men, from the lowest grunt to the highest ranked officer, wear something with my trademark on it, and while you were completing your fitting I picked this out for you.”

Ed smiles up from the box at Penguin, perplexed, and then he opens it to reveal the gold ring inside with the small umbrella etching on one side of the band. Something in his expression falls, a downturn at the corner of his eyes, and Penguin feels more than a little irritated at the lack of an enthusiastic response.

“It's,” Ed takes a deep breath, “Penguin, it's beautiful, really. I don't want to seem ungrateful.”

“You're vetoing the ring, aren't you.”

“I'll wear it,” he insists. “I will. You've already been so generous with my glasses and the suit,” he trails off and touches the back of his head. “Jewelry just isn't something I've ever picked for myself,” he says, running a finger over the gold band. “It's a lot to take in, and I don't know how to thank you. I can at least start with this.”

Penguin drags his gaze up from the garment bags of his new suits and over Ed's good as new glasses. He rights a stray piece of hair near Ed's right ear and says, “you've not grown up with much to your name either.” Ed shakes his head. “Luxury is, well, a luxury,” Penguin laughs to himself. Ed smiles briefly and looks up from the ring. “But there's no reason it can’t also be functional.” He closes the box and takes it back. “You strike me as a man who's used to choosing function over form. Lucky for you now you don't have to make that choice.”

He follows Ed into his dingy apartment building, openly scoffing at the derelict elevator as they take it up to the top floor. The building is clearly repurposed from its days as some sort of factory, of what Penguin doesn't want to know, and he balks when Ed unlocks a heavy metal door and slides it to the side, revealing a one room space with almost no amenities of any kind.

“Home sweet home,” Ed says.

“No.”

“N- sir, I don't under-”

“This _will not_ do,” Penguin says. “You work for me, one of the richest men in Gotham. I can't have one of the highly ranked officers in my organization living in a _box_.”

“It's a loft,” he explains. “And the kitchen is very nice-”

“There isn't even a _closet._ You have to hang those suits, you know. I won't stand for a single wrinkle.”

“Sir, please, you've done so much for me,” Ed restates. He hangs the suits from a pot rack and Penguin nearly chokes. “I can't accept _an apartment_ on top of everything else.”

Penguin scans the small space again, finding it no less distasteful but definitely understanding more of that function over form vibe he'd gotten from Ed in the limo. “I suppose I've thrown a great deal of new things at you today. Maybe next week,” he jokes. Ed laughs under his breath. “Joking aside, tomorrow morning you begin your new duties. I expect to see you at the club promptly at seven thirty, wearing one of those new suits, so I can personally see that you're properly oriented for the task at hand.” He steps closer to Ed for a moment and changes the way his bangs are lying across his forehead. “Do your best to replicate this look in the morning.”

-

He's standing in the doorway facing the staff parking lot when at seven twenty-five the next morning a hideous hatchback vehicle pulls into the lot and parks near the club wall. Penguin doesn't see the need to hide just how appalled he is when it's Ed stepping out from the driver's seat, looking rather crisp and well groomed and _very_ out of place next to his beat up junker of a car.

“No,” Penguin says the moment Ed steps within earshot, and Ed stops dead, scrambling a bit on some loose gravel when he nearly loses his footing. “You are not driving that junk heap. It will not be anywhere _near_ my club unless the entire building is burning to the ground and it's the ignition source.”

Ed looks over at said junk heap and chews on his lip. “I don't have enough to replace it.”

“Then let that be the first part of your orientation,” Penguin says. He places a hand on Ed's elbow and guides him inside the club. “You will be compensated handsomely in your new position. Never again will you need to sacrifice good looks for functionality.” Penguin spares the car one last glance and makes a sour face. “I suppose I can condone keeping your vanity plates if that's a deal breaker. In the meantime you will be outside your building at seven every morning. One of my drivers will be there on the hour to get you and bring you here.”

“Sir, that's too generous-”

“I _insist_ . That thing,” he gestures over his shoulder at the parking lot, “is an eyesore. It doesn't match the man in the driver's seat, especially now.” He pats Ed's chest comfortingly and looks at the lovely cut of his suit jacket, dark blue, with the nice silver buttons and cufflinks. “I have an image to maintain, and by extension I have _your_ image to maintain. No vetoes allowed.”

Ed spares one last longing look out at the parking lot, but he nods. “I'd like the plates.”

“And you shall have them,” Penguin assures him. “We do ourselves zero favors when forgetting where we came from. Now, if you'd follow me to the upper floor I will show you your new office.”

Ed looks nervous as he follows Penguin through the lounge before opening and up the main staircase closest to his office. He stands in front of a door just to the right of his own office and pulls a keyring out of his breast pocket. He flips through them until he finds the correct key, currently unstamped but he has a few ideas already churning in the back of his mind, and he unlocks the door to the small space. “Apologies, I couldn't free up one of the larger offices on the east wall, but this one comes with the perk of being right next to mine.”

Ed mouth drops open the second he steps into the eight by eight foot space. He runs his long fingers over a dark wood shelf with reference materials and a cabinet filled with the files on Penguin's drivers. The two built in shelves behind the cherry wood desk are currently empty, but Penguin imagines Ed's already mentally filled them with his own objects and books.

On top of the desk Penguin places a new box from the same jeweler that made the ring. He taps the lid when Ed doesn't notice and politely coughs. “This is for you.”

“Penguin, I, this is,” Ed laughs, bewildered, “this is my office?”

“Also this,” Penguin taps the box again, and this time Ed lunges forward to open the lid and reveal the silver watch inside. “Form _and_ function.”

“It's perfect,” Ed breathes, already clasping it on to his wrist. “I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you properly, sir.”

“Well I know how you can start,” Penguin says, “because I have decided to promote you to head of distribution for my empire.”

Ed's mouth drops open in shock, “Mr. Penguin, sir, wh- you can't mean-”

“You're a remarkable young man, Ed. Not everyone escapes punishment due to wits alone, but you sir,” Penguin shakes his head fondly, “I believe you're just what my business has been waiting for.” Penguin clasps one of Ed's trembling hands in his own and gives him a firm shake. “I'm a reasonable man. I don't expect perfection overnight. But I do expect more of those genius plans you drew out all over my papers the other day.” He smiles wide. “I have a good feeling about this already.” He releases Ed's hand and calls over his shoulder as he leaves, “make me proud, Ed.”


	3. Chapter 3

The relative quiet of Penguin's office is only punctuated by the sounds of his ice cubes impacting with the side of his glass and a few indistinct voices just beyond the threshold of his open door. It's his lieutenants, mostly likely, readying his men to return fire.

He shakes his head at the reports on his desk and sighs angrily, tipping his head back to gulp down the last few swings of his drink before setting the glass aside and shouting out into the hall. “Victor!”

A bald head almost immediately appears from one side of the door frame and he points to himself. “Me, right?”

“Yes, you, now get in here!”

“Told you years ago to start using last names,” Zsasz says casually as he walks in, hands in his pockets and far too much swagger given the circumstances. “I got the reports in just like you wanted.”

“We lost  _ four _ of your men.  _ Your  _ men. The ones that are supposed to be the  _ best _ .”

Zsasz shrugs. “We didn't  _ lose  _ them, boss. It's more like they're misplaced.”

“Having men in Blackgate doesn't  _ help me _ ,” Penguin shouts. “We're dealing with enough trouble on the streets without the Batman rounding up my soldiers.” He quickly flips through his reports again and snarls, “and where is my distribution report! Where is Ed!”

“Who?”

“The,” Penguin closes his eyes and breathes deeply, “the young man with the glasses- you know who Ed is! Head of distributions! My driver gave me a call this morning explaining how he never showed up outside his apartment for a ride.” Penguin laughs incredulously as he reclines back in his chair. “I spared his life. I gave him an opportunity, and here he is throwing it away.”

“Shame,” Zsasz says enthusiastically with a small head shake. “Guess I'll just have to kill him this time.”

Penguin about rolls his eyes, but he gets them closed before he can follow through with the motion, however appropriate it feels. “Just find him and bring him to me. Alive.”

“Kay,” Zsasz sighs. “Alive alive, or mostly alive?”

“Bring him here in the state he is currently in,” Penguin clarifies. “Now hurry up.”

Zsasz sends him a two finger salute as he pivots on his heel and strides out the door. Penguin listens as his footsteps get further away, but as he lifts his glass to get the last watered down bit of his drink the footsteps start getting louder again until he's standing in the doorway with his hands on either side of the frame. “Hey boss.”

Penguin’s expression was supposed to get Zsasz to explain himself but somehow, probably on purpose, Zsasz has never been that adept at reading the various levels of distress on his face. “Why are you here? Go find Ed!”

“Already did. He's in his office,” Zsasz jerks his head to the side, “looks like shit.”

“I distinctly remember telling you to bring him to me a minute ago.”

“Yeah, but you're going to want to see him in there to get the whole, uh,” he waves a hand, “look, you know how you're always saying the setting matters? Definitely applies right now.”

Penguin huffs and pushes himself out of his chair and grabs his cane. “Fine. I will go to him, but we are not done talking about this debacle.”

“Naw, I think we are,” Zsasz says as Penguin reaches the door frame. He stops dead in his tracks and sends Zsasz a glare, which is thoroughly ignored. “You'll see what I mean. Later, boss.”

He slips by Penguin and begins walking down the hall, and Penguin sputters before shouting after him, “you're making me question why I haven't fired you!”

“It's cause I'm the best,” Zsasz shouts back, and then he's out of earshot, as if Penguin was going to confirm and therefore condone his insubordinate behavior.

He mentally prepares himself for whatever “looking like shit” must mean to Zsasz, who tends to have wildly different standards compared to Penguin. As long as there's no blood soaking into the wood floor or an actively burning fire anything he finds should be manageable by a well silenced cleaning staff.

There's no blood on the floor, no bodies strewn about or a kidnap victim to silence, there's just a chalkboard on wheels, several stacks of papers on every available surface, and Ed, frantically bouncing between the stacks and the board with a frenzied intensity. He doesn't seem to notice Penguin standing in the doorway, watching what might possibly be a full scale meltdown take place before his very eyes.

“Ed,” Penguin calls out to him, not yet daring to step into any potential paths the young man may take, obstacles be damned. There isn't even a twitch of recognition or a nod in acknowledgement. “Ed, I'll have you know ignoring your superiors is a fireable offense in my empire.”

Nothing. The absolute  _ nerve  _ of his generation. Penguin steps into the room properly and times his grab just so, latching a hand in the crook of Ed's elbow as he attempts to cross the room. He lets out an actual shriek, arms flying up to protect his head, and if Penguin hadn't kept a firm grip on his arm he probably would have wound up on the floor.

Ed's breathing is alarmingly fast and shallow, too shallow for Penguin's liking. He shifts his grip slowly, moving his arm from the crook of Ed's elbow and up to his wrist, gently tugging his arm down so it's curled in by his side. With his other arm he repeats the motion until Ed clasps his own hands together over his stomach, and Penguin releases him and takes a step back.

Now that he's not moving at light speed Penguin can see why Zsasz described him as “looking like shit”. If he didn't know any better he would assume Ed had gotten into a fight overnight given the dark smudges under his eyes. There's either something sticky in Ed's hair or it just naturally stands up when unwashed. And his  _ suit _ , it's appalling seeing his tie loose and floppy, his shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows and his suit coat is nowhere to be found, possibly lying on the floor getting  _ wrinkled _ .

“I did not spend time and money making you look presentable only to walk in to find  _ this _ ,” he sighs. “Pull yourself together.” Ed bites his lip, fretting his hands in his shirt and probably ruining the threading, but he's also breathing a bit slower. He'll accept the lesser of two evils for now and remember to reprimand him for ruining his nice clothes later. “Your driver informed me that you missed your ride this morning.”

“Morning?” Ed whispers, bewildered. “Right, morning. It's morning?”

“You didn't  _ sleep  _ here did you?”

“No, no I didn't sleep,” he mutters. “It's morning?”

Penguin gapes at Ed for a moment before finding his mental footing. “It's actually close to afternoon now. Did you stay here all night?”

“There was,” he gulps audibly, mouth sticky sounding and parched, “yesterday, sir, the raid-”

“I'm aware, Ed. I asked you a question, and I'd like the answer, since you didn't bother to give me my report this morning.”

“Someone flipped, sir. Or, I don't know the term-”

“Ed,” he says with a warning tone.

“I stayed here, yes,” and he's barreling into his explanation again without taking a breath, “because someone  _ flipped _ , and I needed to know why for your report, but,” he starts breathing faster again, “but I couldn't find anything.”

“Excuse me?”

“It would help if I knew the  _ term _ \- sir, it's,” he huffs, “a driver was an informant, I think.”

Penguin closes his eyes and lets a rush of bloodlust wash over him and ebb away before answering. “The term you want is squealed, probably, although if you'd given me my  _ report _ -”

“I can't find the driver!” Ed snaps, and he gasps. “Sir, forgive me, please. It was an outburst-”

Penguin holds up a hand to silence Ed. “I’m currently more interested in your lack of results than your little tantrum. What do you mean you can't find him?”

“I can't find the informant. There's,” he laughs once, a broken, distressed sound, “there's no evidence. Per your rules none of them have family to lose, no ties or bonds to anyone in any position at the GCPD, there's  _ nothing _ , sir. It's an anomaly without reason. A-a, it's,” he can't seem to find the words he wants to use, and instead continues searching the air in front of him as if it will provide him with what he needs.

Penguin gives the room a second, more thorough scan, noting the open files and sticky notes attached to various pages on each stack of papers. He sighs; he does love a self starter, but he suspects Ed fell down a few rabbit holes the longer he allowed himself to embrace sleep deprivation. Pity.

“Let me see if I understand everything,” Penguin says, snapping Ed out of his trance, “it's your belief that the raid was able to take place because we have a rat among us.” He waits for Ed's response but he isn't forthcoming. “This is where you agree or not, Ed.”

“Yes sir,” he whispers. Penguin watches the way Ed shyly glances up at him and looks away. “I am confident my theory is correct.”

“Why shouldn't I suspect you of being the rat?” Penguin asks. Ed's eyes squeeze shut, and he worries his lip between his teeth, hard enough to make them red and raw and nearly bleed. “Ed-”

“I wouldn't do that to you,” he blurts out, eyes shining and wet when they fly open. “No one else has ever been so,” he pulls back and clams up without finishing, but even the lead up was overflowing with obvious gratitude. He considers prying further, but tables the conversation topic for another time.

“I will assume you're being truthful. If you aren't we both know what would happen if you  _ were _ the rat.” He waits to see if Ed will finish his gracious compliment from earlier after being yet again spared, but instead he's attempting to subtly wipe at his eyes. Penguin ignores the motion and continues. “That being said, you weren't able to find me the culprit last night,” Penguin says. Ed shakes his head. “How much was lost in the raid?”

Ed’s tone is almost robotic as he answers, “twenty thousand in profits, four cases of weapons and the driver of the van was killed during the altercation.”

“Let's hope he was the rat,” Penguin jokes. Ed doesn't even manage a smile, and Penguin's slips away. “I am sorry to say I am a bit disappointed in you Ed.” His reaction is immediate; his progress attempting to stave off any actual tears falling is undone. There's the tiniest sniffle, a small intake of breath, but Ed manages to at least keep his breakdown silent. Not really the reaction he expects from a gangster, although he's reluctant to give Ed that title. “Surely you understand just how important reports are, especially following an incident,” he continues, and Ed nods, nearly frantic. “I expect better of you.” He pauses, waiting for Ed to have some sort of response, and after a few minutes of silence, excluding Ed's somewhat labored breathing, Penguin huffs and comes to a decision. “Go to my office.”

“Sir,” he croaks, “please, I can find the driver-”

“Go. To. My. Office.” Penguin demands. Ed presses his lips together and after a futile attempt to dry his cheeks and straighten his hair he makes his way towards the door. Penguin moves faster, opening it and glancing out into the hall before allowing Ed to enter the empty space and walk the ten feet separating their doors. He can't have Ed seen in this state if he's going to maintain his carefully constructed reputation; it's certainly something they're going to have to work through if Ed's going to work for an organization that needs to be feared in order to survive.

He closes his office door behind them to keep prying eyes out. Ed hasn't moved more than a few feet past the doorway, and he's quaking where he stands as Penguin moves past him and over to his desk.

“Here is what we’re going to do next,” Penguin says as he pulls his key ring out of the top drawer of his desk. “Not only have you failed to deliver my report in a timely manner; you’ve also neglected to maintain the image I funded for you. An empire’s image is as vital as its business wouldn’t you agree?”

“Mr. Penguin-”

“Again with the double title,” Penguin sighs. “I really will never break that habit of yours will I?” he asks rhetorically.

“Sir,” Ed says softly, “please, I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but-”

Penguin shushes him. “I am the one with the authority to dole out second chances in this office, Ed, not you.” He steps away from his desk and over to Ed; his slight tremors become more pronounced with each step Penguin takes. “I cannot imagine what I must have done to elicit such a pronounced fear response from you.”

“I can do better-” Ed starts, whimpering when Penguin takes hold of his left arm and begins leading him to the window. “Please, sir, I can still be useful-”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Ed,” Penguin says, and Ed gulps. Penguin releases his arm long enough to find the key with his stamp on the side and unlock a recessed door on the east wall. “This is why your office doesn’t have a window,” he says, and he pushes the door in and allows Ed to peer inside his private rooms.

“It’s a bedroom,” Ed says, stunned, and he turns away from the small space to look at Penguin. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s no secret that I have some difficulties with my leg,” he gestures to his out turned foot, “and sometimes that means it’s easier to walk the twenty feet to this bed rather than attempt to make it all the way across town.” He points to the door near the foot of the full sized bed. “It’s comes with a rather nice bathroom, per my specifications.”

“This is your room,” Ed says. The surprise seems to have stunned him enough to stop his blubbering. “I still don’t understand.”

I can safely say I did not gain the knowledge I have overnight,” Penguin says. “Building an empire as large as mine takes time, patience, and a fair amount of failure.” He chuckles to himself, and some of the tension in the room dissipates. “You are young, and with youth comes inexperience, which is why I find myself so frustrated, because I can see that you’re  _ brimming  _ with potential. But I have failed you as much, nay, more than you have failed me. Here’s what happens next, Ed. I am going to take you under my wing,” he smiles, and Ed bites his lip but the corners of his mouth still curl upwards in response. “I will teach you how to better serve my empire. However before we can begin I need you to do a few things for me.”

“Anything,” Ed says quickly.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Penguin says. “When you take care of yourself you can better take care of my needs, which is why I’m offering the use of my quarters. A well rested man is a clear thinking man.” He ushers Ed inside the room before he can properly protest Penguin’s generosity. “And following your respite take some time to freshen up. I’ll be summoning someone to fetch a clean suit from your home, now if you’ll just hand over the key,” he says as he holds out a hand, and Ed scrambles to pull his apartment keys from his pants pocket, “thank you. When you’re done you will join me in my office, and we’ll begin hammering out the finer details of your apprenticeship.”

“Thank you,” Ed whispers. He looks a bit overcome, and also like the exhaustion is catching up with him. Penguin nods his head at the bed before grabbing the door handle and shutting it behind him. Through the wood he can hear a content sigh followed by the sound of several springs protesting as Ed presumably collapses onto the mattress.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really expect this au to consume all of my writing efforts but who am I kidding of course I expected this enjoy.

Penguin spends the next few hours in blissful silence, hand curled around a warm mug of tea as he reads over the rest of his reports. The loss of some of Zsasz's men is by far the biggest blow, but certainly not a major threat. Twenty thousand lost in profits is laughable, and he feels confident that once Ed is finished resting his brilliant mind he'll be able to connect the dots leading to Penguin's little rat problem.

He picks up his phone once he's finished with the reports and phones Zsasz, tapping his foot impatiently when the man refuses to pick up.

There's a knock at his office door, and he scowls up at it when it starts to open without his say so. The phone is still ringing in his ear as Zsasz pokes his head inside, wagging his cell in one hand and grinning like an idiot. “You called, boss?”

“With the understanding that you would  _ answer _ ,” he snaps. He glares at the phone still in his hand and returns it to the cradle with a loud clack. “I have a job for you.”

“Now are we going to kill him?” he asks hopefully.

“Him?”

“The squirrely guy,” Zsasz says, and Penguin spares a glance back at the door to his quarters. “He didn't do his report,” Zsasz reminds him in a very sing song, excited way only Zsasz can manage when talking about murder.

“I seem to remember someone else not finishing his reports until I threatened to take away his execution privileges.”

“You're never going to let me kill him are you,” Zsasz sighs. He drops himself into the chair across from Penguin's desk and shakes his head sadly. “I had it all planned out, and I was going to get rid of that car too.”

“Maybe this will teach you not to count your chickens before they've hatched. I'm not going to throw away an opportunity like this just because he's unpolished.”

Zsasz scoffs. “You're just tired of not having eye candy around.”

“It certainly doesn't hurt,” Penguin agrees casually. “Speaking of which, I need you to run over to his apartment and get him a clean suit. Promptly, although I have a sneaking suspicion he won't be awake for some time.” He takes out Ed's set of apartment keys and tosses them lightly into Zsasz's hand. “Go with the dark grey.”

Zsasz frowns down at the keyring and then up at Penguin. “You want  _ me  _ to do this?”

“I want someone that takes discretion seriously to do this,” Penguin clarifies. “God knows why you of all people meet that criteria.” He reclines back as far as his stiff backed chair will allow. “Ed's apartment is,” he pauses, “cozy. And it doesn't match the image I've been helping him cultivate. Seeing as you're the only other person to see him in his manic state from earlier, and I haven't heard any rumors flying around about his unkempt state, I trust you'll agree keep his less than luxurious living space a secret between us.”

Zsasz shrugs. “Sure.”

“Fantastic,” Penguin says, and then he shows Zsasz off with a wave of his hand. As he exits Penguin calls out to him with a belated inquiry. “Victor,” he waits until Zsasz has turned away from the door, “if I remember correctly you’re not unfamiliar with skipping a night's sleep now and again.”

“I'm on day,” he looks up and a few of his fingers twitch, “three.”

“Fantastic,” he says sarcastically, “but relevant. Following one of your little bouts of insomnia how long would you say you tend to sleep? A ballpark number will do.”

Zsasz hems and haws a bit as he kills it over, then calmly replies, “twelve.”

Penguin balks. “Twelve  _ hours _ ?”

“Or more. Don't really remember.”

He gives the door a more obvious look, a silent plea to prove Zsasz wrong, and by the time he turns back to his office door Zsasz is gone.

-

The light filtering in from the window behind Penguin's back begins to fade and Ed still hasn't made a peep.

Zsasz also hasn't returned, which he finds irritating but not terribly so. The suit isn't urgent until Ed attempts to change and finds himself without anything clean to wear. Briefly Penguin wonders what sort of clothing he's left in the small bureau opposite the door, but even if it's brimming with options none of the suits would fit Ed's lanky frame. They certainly wouldn’t do him justice, although he could stand to have a good laugh after the day they’ve all had.

He picks up the handset for his phone, glaring at it in the hopes Zsasz will feel the ire through the line and pick up this time, but as he taps the third number his office door swings open and in saunters Zsasz, one hand holding up a pristine, plastic covered suit and the other twirling the keys to Ed's apartment. He's whistling, too, so he must not have gotten the ire Penguin was sending his way.

“You took your sweet time,” Penguin snaps as he drops the headset back into its cradle.

“He's got a lot of crazy stuff in that little place,” Zsasz explains. “You've seen it right?”

“Briefly,” he says, although he's not sure he would label any of Ed's belongings as crazy, unless he's made a few odd purchases with his newfound wealth. “You didn't find that hanging from the potrack did you?”

“A suit?” Zsasz looks at it and back to Penguin. “Nah, guy's got a clothes rack by the piano.”

“Oh,” he says, pleasantly surprised. “That’s certainly an improvement.” He's had more than one moment of worry that Ed is going to come to work smelling of whatever it is he cooks for himself in his tiny kitchen. “Bring it here,” he says, reaching out for the suit. Zsasz drops the suit and the keyring onto Penguin's desk. He briefly touches the front if the lapel, sighing wistfully. “I'm afraid I'm going to have a late night tonight, but it can't be helped. He'll wake up eventually.”

“I know one way it can be helped.” Zsasz grins at him, brow waggling suggestively.

“You're dismissed,” Penguin snaps, glaring at Zsasz until he holds up his hands in surrender, laughing quietly as he leaves.

Penguin holds up the dark grey suit and turns it around, noting the hints of lighter stitching along the pocket and lapels. “Lovely,” he whispers to himself.

He waits a bit longer, listening for any noises that sound like Ed's woken from his slumber, but there's no creak of bedsprings or running water from the shower. Somewhere downstairs he's sure the restaurant has numerous patrons lining up for their reservations, but even on their busiest days he's never been able to hear anything on the second floor. All he hears is the soft ticking of his wall clock and, occasionally, his growling stomach, begging him to descend from his tower and mingle with the public long enough to get some dinner.

Penguin takes out one of his pens and scribbles a quick note - _ retiring for dinner, will return later this evening, P _ \- and he folds it once before tucking it into the breast pocket of Ed's suit. He pushes himself out of his desk chair and fetches his cane in one hand and Ed's suit in the other, and then he crosses the short distance between his and the door.

Penguin lets the door being open wide enough to allow him to enter and leaves it ajar to allow the light from his office to filter inside. There's a small pile of crumpled clothes by the side of the bed -a white button down shirt and navy pants- wrinkling away while their wearer breathes slow and even above them, lying on his side with one hand nearly hanging off the mattress and the other curled close to his chest. Penguin walks across the room and hangs the suit on the bathroom door knob, hesitates for the barest of moments to check for wakefulness, and leaves after that moment when Ed’s sleep continues on undisturbed.

He prefers to use the private staircase that leads down into the kitchen instead of the restaurant proper. Mingling in the restaurant is tedious at best and now often than not a waste of his time; Penguin has found people only show their true colors conversing in clubs or the casino.

His private dining room is just close enough to hear the patrons without having to see or talk to them. Penguin drops his cane into the holder near the door and sighs with satisfaction as he settles into the plush dining chair at his table. Tonight someone is playing live piano in the main hall, just loud enough to hear in his private room. Someone on his waitstaff hands him a glass of red wine and another comments quietly about the superb veal being served tonight, to which he gives a single nod in response.

Not long after a plate of delicious food is placed in front of him there's a polite throat clearing to Penguin's left. He looks up, blinking away a bit of an alcohol haze ass he focuses on the charcoal grey of Ed's clean suit. “I was beginning to think I'd need to send for a physician.”

“I didn't mean to sleep for so long, sir,” he says sheepishly. “I took advantage of your hospitality-”

“Nonsense.” Penguin waves a hand dismissively. He gestures to the seat across from him. “Sit. If you refuse I will consider it a slight,” he teases. Ed, who may not be as alert and awake as he normally is, sits nervously, only calming down when he sees that Penguin is smiling. “You will always know when you've tried to take advantage of my hospitality, Ed. If I'd wanted to I could have easily woken you earlier, but I saw no point when nothing urgent came up.” He takes another drink of his second glass of wine before saying, “I am curious as to how you found me down here.”

“Oh, well, Mr Zsasz informed me,” he pauses when Penguin begins laughing under his breath, “he um, he said you have private dining. Sir, I don't know why that's funny?”

“Don't call him Mr Zsasz,” he laughs. “He's already unbearable. I wouldn't be able to stand him if his ego got any bigger.”

Ed smiles briefly, rolling his bottom lip in until he gets his reaction under control. “He has a bombastic personality.”

“If only you knew,” Penguin sighs. “Thankfully he's reliable or I wouldn't bother keeping him and his men around.” Ed's eyelids flutter, and his easy expression becomes troubled. “And here I thought I'd managed to ease all your worries. Ed,” he calls out, reaching over the small table and grabbing for Ed's hand until he allows Penguin to take it, “I would not extend such a generous offer if I didn't think you were capable of becoming a great man within my empire.”

Ed doesn't respond; he doesn't even look Penguin in the eye. Penguin's confidence that he  _ can  _ mold Ed into a worthy addition to his empire wavers, but then he follows Ed's line of sight. He isn't avoiding Penguin's face; he's looking at their hands, mesmerized. Penguin runs his thumb over Ed's knuckles and barely contains his delight when it causes Ed to shiver.

He lets Ed's hand go and the spell is broken. Ed pulls his hand into his lap and a healthy blush colors his cheeks. He attempts to say something, but all that comes out is a hoarse, croaking sound, and the blush deepens as he clears his throat. “I ah, should let you eat your dinner. Excuse me.”

“Sit,” Penguin insists before Ed can fully leave his seat. “There's no way you aren't  _ famished _ .” He cuts a piece of his veal and stabs the fork into it before holding it out for Ed. “Try it. If you honestly hate it then by all means.”

Ed nearly leans in, then he catches himself and reaches out a hand to take the fork from Penguin. He tries to look serious for a moment, but his expression melts into bliss. He doesn't recover his neutral expression before giving Penguin his verdict. “I  _ am _ hungry,” he admits, adding a belated, “sir.”

Penguin waves a hand to get one of the wait staff over to them. “He'll have the veal as well, and a nice red.” Penguin picks up his wine glass and swirls it once before taking another sip. “I select the wine list myself.”

“I don't really drink,” Ed admits.

“Then it's a good thing I'm here because I won't let you drink swill.”

Ed doesn't look thrilled, but he accepts the wine glass he's given with a near-silent thank you and gives it a courtesy sip. “Oh,” he whispers, and then he takes a longer drink. “That is quite good.” He sets the glass on the table. “But don't you want to discuss my apprenticeship tonight, sir? I'm afraid high alcohol tolerance doesn't run in my family.”

“Tomorrow,” he waves Ed off. “Tonight I want to enjoy this nice evening with good food and good company.” He raises his glass and waits for Ed to touch the rims together before sharing a drink. He exclaims, mouth still full of good wine, and gestures to his ear before swallowing his drink. “Hear that?” He waits until the tinkling of piano keys becomes more audible. “If I'm not mistaken you own a piano.”

“I do.”

“And I assume you play. I can't imagine you owning something you can't use.” Ed nods. “Publicly?”

Ed hesitates before answering. “Recitals, mostly, although it's been several years, sir. I play for myself these days.”

“Well, eventually the people are going to want to know exactly what kind of young man I've welcomed into my upper management. I think a night at the piano here would do you justice. Unless you'd like to veto that idea, of course.”

Ed shakes his head. “It sounds,” he tilts his head in thought, “challenging, but also exciting,” he grins. “I'll do it.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I suppose the best way to describe the reports is to call them a snapshot.”

Ed nods along, diligently writing notes down in his notepad, and he looks up once his pen stops moving on the page. “A snapshot?” he repeats as a question. “Do you want photos in the reports?”

Penguin sits back in his chair and muses for a moment, watching the way Ed's eyes get tense while he waits for an answer. “They're more of a literary snapshot. I suppose that's not the best word to use as a descriptor. Never mind that, the idea is the same regardless of medium used. All I want to know, at the exact moment you hand it in, what your current conclusions are, and what you plan to do moving forward.”

“Even if my knowledge incomplete, sir,” Ed repeats, again, and again those tense lines appear as he waits.

“ _Especially_ if your understanding is incomplete. Something my top men don't know is something _I_ don't know. Knowledge is powerful in any business, but it's _especially_ powerful here.” Ed adds a few more lines of notes to his pad and Penguin waits for him to finish before continuing. “Ed, I am sure you're already aware but I am _very_ outspoken. If something isn't to my liking you'll know about it.”

“So, for my report from yesterday,” Ed pauses and surveys Penguin's response; Penguin urges him on with a gentle hand wave, “I theorize someone within your ranks had to of given the GCPD the pick up point, but I have not found evidence to back this claim.”

“Exactly,” Penguin agrees. “Although I would like to know why you came to this conclusion.”

“Ah, well,” Ed actually smiles for a moment before reigning in his delight and presenting a small map. There's a large red circle and a hastily written note beside it, completely illegible in its current state. “That is the exact location of the arrest.”

“You're certain of this?”

“I have secured a point of access for myself that allows me to see GCPD records as long as they're digitized. I don't go on site, sir,” he assures Penguin.

“I hope this access point isn't a _person_.” Ed shakes his head. “Don't hang onto it if you suspect someone is onto you. I can do a great many things, but I have yet to perfect a way to keep my men out of prison, and I'd hate to see you end up there.”

“I'm not very good at fighting,” Ed laughs nervously, then he gulps. “Sir, would it be wise-?”

Penguin cuts him off. “There's a difference between caution and cowardice.” He calms his expression in the hopes it will ease Ed's worry. He suggests gently, “why don't we get back to that pick up point.”

“Right,” Ed smiles, still a bit wary but he's clearly proud of himself for whatever he's about to say. “As you're well aware, the less than legal portions of your distribution run concurrently with legal ones-”

“Ed, bullet points please.”

He nods. “Here,” he points to his circle, “the trucks haven't started their rounds, and because pick up points differ each week there's no way of knowing where and when the contraband trucks will actually have contraband in them. Someone involved with this pick up specifically had to tip off the GCPD to the location.”

“A routine traffic stop would have been smarter,” Penguin agrees. “They've certainly done it before.”

“Hence the rotation, and disguising the trucks with legitimate deliveries.” Ed smirks. “I might not even have thought there was a snitch if they'd stuck to that method.”

“They got cocky or sloppy,” Penguin sighs. “Pity our biggest threat is slipping into incompetence once again. Good work,” he adds. Ed preens, but he also blushes. “I mean it, Ed. This gives me confidence about your potential. It's almost embarrassing the number of lieutenants in my empire that wouldn't have thought of this.”

“I don't want to seem rude, sir,” Ed says carefully, “but I, well, I suppose I'm not accustomed to flattery.”

“Do you find it unwelcome?”

“I think unfamiliar is more accurate, sir.”

“Well,” Penguin gets up with a bit of a flourish and walks around his desk to place a firm hand on Ed's shoulder. The way Ed's eyelids flutter doesn't escape his notice, nor does the way Ed's gaze can't seem to tear away from their point of contact. He finishes his thought with a low tone, spoken just above Ed's ear, “if you keep up this good work for me there will be a _plethora_ of praise coming your way.”

-

No matter how advanced Penguin's empire becomes there are certain things he is a staunch traditionalist about, and the glorified parading of his new employees is one he's going to cling to until he's being lowered into his grave. A Penguin employee is stylish and they're talented; whether that talent be domestic or something a bit more destructive depends on the person. No matter the talent the one constant is a party, usually held within the first few months of his new hire; Penguin closes his favorite restaurant to the public for one night and every one of his lieutenants is present to meet their newest member while enjoying some of the finest food available to affluent Gothamites.

“Some of the older guys aren't going to like this baby face in charge,” Zsasz says coolly from his place near Penguin's office door.

Penguin's hand shakes a bit with some well contained fury as he holds up a nice green tie against Ed's charcoal suit. “Change is inevitable, Victor. And if these “older guys" of mine want to keep their positions out of the hands of capable young men they better start actually doing them.” He smiles up at Ed and hands over the tie. “This tie has a nice contrast with your hair.”

Ed mouths “thank you” and turns away from Penguin and faces the mirror to begin tying the tie. Penguin places a firm hand at the small of Ed's back, and there's only a brief stutter of Ed's movements before he's leaning into the touch and continuing with his Windsor knot.

“You sure you want to do this artsy-fartsy thing for his debut?” Zsasz asks loudly. Ed's brow furrows and he turns towards him, quietly repeating the words “artsy-fartsy” with more than a little irritation in his tone. “You let me kill a rival _boss_ for mine.”

“Ed's talents are a bit more subtle, Victor. Maybe you should take notes.”

“I'm your head of security. Subtle’s not part of the job,” Zsasz protests, but Penguin waves him off.

“Why don't you go make sure,” he pauses but doesn't put a lot of effort into coming up with a reason to get Zsasz to go, too busy watching Ed's fingers finish the loop of his tie and tighten the knot, “dinner is on track for the evening.”

“You aren't even trying anymore, boss,” Zsasz shakes his head sadly, but he does move from his place against the wall after Penguin shoots him a withering look. The only response it gets is a raised brow and a clearly unimpressed side-eye in the direction of his current hand placement, and then Zsasz is out the door.

“Pay him no mind,” Penguin says, letting his hand drop from Ed's back as he sidesteps so they're face to face. “As much as he'd hate to admit it he does fall into the category of “older guys” at times. Things used to be done with a bit more backdoor violence than they are now, but he's never been one for politics. Now,” he straightens Ed's tie just a fraction and hums happily to himself, “I'm certainly not against the gold standard of tie knots but is there a chance you know something a bit more unique than a Windsor?”

“No, I'm afraid I haven't been wearing ties for long enough to try, sir.” Although he says it in a way that makes Penguin certain he'll be learning some the moment he has time to himself. “I do have one question about tonight.”

“Of course. Ask away.”

“How many people will there be at the party?” He still looks rather nervous as he waits for an answer; unfortunately it's something Penguin hasn't gotten much headway on in their lessons.

“Twenty, or maybe thirty. Hardly anyone really, and these people are like family.”

“Okay,” Ed says, “in that case, sir, could I possibly play without my glasses?”

Penguin blinks. “If I'm not mistaken you made quite a sound argument about why you need those at all times to see.”

“I do, I’m just,” he takes a deep, shuddering breath and, somewhat surprisingly, he laughs, “I’m nervous.”

“Oh,” Penguin nods. “Wait, what does that have to do with your glasses?”

“Well, to play I only need,” he holds out his arm and gestures to a space around three feet in front of his face, “to see this far, perfectly manageable without them. I just think, if it’s alright with you, that I would perform better if I couldn’t get distracted by any,” he struggles to come up with exactly what he’s trying to say, “dislike?”

Penguin arches one brow. “Do you think your fellow coworkers have something against the piano?”

“No, of course not, but, well,” he huffs, “I’m afraid Mr. Zsasz may have a point.”

Penguin resists the impulse to check and make sure Zsasz didn’t hear Ed give him the respect he doesn’t really deserve. He has far more important matters to tend to if tonight is going to go well. “I could spend an entire evening assuring you just how unwarranted these fears are, but as you already brought to my attention we do have at least one dissenter among my ranks. If it won’t cause a hindrance to your performance then I don’t see the harm.” He reaches for Ed’s face and gently lifts the glasses off, letting the tips of his fingers brush along Ed’s temples as he slides them free. “I don't hate these glasses, but they do distract from the main attraction.”

Penguin secretly dreads the day when Ed will stop reacting to flattery with the same unbridled joy he does now. It's like he's caught Ed by surprise every time; before the joy takes over there's a subtle widening of his eyes, a brace for impact (of what Penguin isn't certain. A take back?), and then it ebbs away as his cheeks color with a faint blush.

“I um,” he actually croaks a bit, and his happiness morphs into embarrassment as he clears his throat. “I think I need those back, sir.”

Penguin holds the glasses up, either to put them on Ed's face for him or to let him take them, but which one he does isn't up to him.

He feels the need to test Ed, just a bit. There's clearly some sort of vague desire on Ed's part, but Penguin hasn't fully parsed what it entails, only that it feels just as unformed as Ed himself. But there's only so much investigation he can manage in a day before Ed gets overwhelmed. Touching his back was a step up from seemingly innocent hand and shoulder touches, and might honestly be the young man's limit for the day if he's going to maintain his composure for tonight.

There's a moment of pause as Ed mulls over the options, and then he shakes his head, reigning himself in and reaching out for his glasses. He nearly drops them as he unfolds the arms, but soon enough they're back in place and he's managed to make his expression neutral even though he's as red as a tomato.

“Why don't we make our way downstairs?” Penguin offers. “Things should be getting underway, and I really should make an appearance before we begin.”

They take the lift together instead of the stairs. Penguin isn't aiming to dodge his patrons tonight, and the extra organizing has caused a mild flare up of pain to make its presence known. During the short ride, despite the ample room available to them, Ed remains hovering mere inches away from Penguin's side.

He's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and his posture is rather stiff. It seems he hasn't managed to quell those nerves of his; and just a bit more information for Penguin, he seems to think a close proximity with Penguin is the cure. He waits until the lift stops at the ground floor before placing a hand on Ed's upper back. Whether or not Ed sees it as more than just urging him out before the door closes isn't clear, but Penguin can feel him shuddering with each breath, and how the longer his hand stays in place the less and less Ed shakes.

He leads Ed to the private dining room and gestures to the table, telling him to, “sit a moment, and I'll rally the troops,” before he slips out into the main dining room and scans the crowd.

It's a modest gathering; the few people Penguin can't see he knows are currently dealing with a bit of an inconvenient stint in Blackgate. The restaurant's usual piano player is already tinkling away at the keys, keeping the ambiance light and calm until Ed can take over.

And then he spots Zsasz, standing tall and ominous just past the piano, eyes scanning the room like he's looking for prey. He's listened to Penguin about wearing a suit instead of the over the top ensemble he prefers on duty, pitch black and sleek and not even pretending to hide the shoulder holsters for his trademark pistols. Penguin catches his attention with two taps of his cane against the tiled floor, and when he gestures with his head towards the kitchen Zsasz only blinks once before propelling himself over to the swinging doors with a few long strides. He holds one open for Penguin as he approaches and lets it swing shut behind them once they're in relative privacy.

“What are you doing?” Penguin snaps.

“Just keeping security under control. You know I actually checked on dinner too? They had to eighty-six an app but I told them-”

“You are _lurking_ like a _spectre of death_.”

“Oh I like that one,” Zsasz interrupts. “I'm going to use that someday.”

Penguin's eyebrow twitches. “Don't tell me you don't see what I'm seeing. I know you're smarter than you _act_ . Not even a moment ago you made a point of telling Ed and me that some of _my men_ are unhappy with his placement as the head of anything, and now you're planning to stand a mere five feet away from him all evening? You honestly can't see what sort of implication that holds?”

Zsasz regards Penguin with a calm, cool expression and a slight head nod. “The kid snitched on a snitch. No one's found the guy, and for all we know he's out there, in that room,” Zsasz jabs two fingers at the small window on the door, “planning something big. You want the kid to stick around then I gotta do my job.”

Penguin sucks on his inner cheek to keep himself from barking out his first and second reactions. On his third attempt he's managed to come up with something a bit more amicable. “I see your point,” he says, “and I _do_ appreciate the gesture. But,” he jabs one finger into Zsasz’s chest, “if you’re going to _insist_ on lurking right behind his shoulder you have to make an effort to do it less menacingly. He’s already shaking like a leaf.”

“Deal,” Zsasz holds out a hand and Penguin shakes it firmly. “No guarantees.”

“I’m sure you can manage to conjure up something a bit friendlier than resting murderer face,” Penguin says lightly. “Now if you'll excuse me I need to fabricate some self confidence for a certain someone so he doesn't embarrass himself in front of his colleagues.”

Penguin takes the time to offer up a few friendly smiles and handshakes on his way to his private dining room, not that the crowd actually needs warming up. The endless glasses of wine and whiskey are doing a marvelous job without the need for pleasantries. Food is just now being brought out to individual tables, small plates of some of Penguin's favorite hors d'oeuvres with plenty of assurances that the main course selections, namely fine cuts of meat, will be soon to follow.

Ed hasn't made a mess of his appearance in the short time Penguin was apart from him, but he hasn't managed to calm himself down either. Currently he's attempting to shred a cloth napkin, or at least the motion reminds Penguin of shredding. All he's managed to do is unroll it and worry at the corners.

“I had hoped you would have worked through this bout of nerves by the time I got back,” Penguin says. The look Ed gives him is absolutely pitiful, verging on genuine terror, and Penguin moves forward to pluck the napkin from Ed's hands and replace it with his firm grip. Ed squeezes back, and he leans his forehead against Penguin's fingers, but while the motion only surprises Penguin it sets something off in Ed, who scrambles up and away until he's standing with the perfect posture Penguin insists upon, eyes wide and frightened but focused on Penguin's face.

“I’m sorry,” Ed says, belatedly adding, “sir.”

Penguin waves him off. “I want to give you fair warning, Victor and I had a little chat, and as a precaution, not that I even think there's anything to be cautious about, he will be maintaining a close proximity to you.”

“As a precaution,” Ed repeats.

“For your safety,” Penguin clarifies.

“It's unsafe?” he whimpers, actually whimpers. Penguin has a fleeting urge to cancel Ed's portion of the evening entertainment and squirrel him away in the bedroom upstairs, but he's not in the business of organized crime to cultivate someone without a study backbone.

“Ed Nygma, unless you've forgotten you work for the Penguin. You work for a mobster. Unsafe doesn't begin to cover the nature of this job, and yet none of that seems to scare you. I'm being sincere when I ask, why now, are you afraid?”

Ed struggles to start talking, and each frustrated grunt and sigh only seems to make him struggle _more_ , and when he finally says anything it isn't really an answer, at least not directly. “You have so much faith in me.”

Penguin takes some time to plan his next words very carefully. Ed is teetering, but towards what Penguin isn't sure, but if he doesn't pull him back from the edge he's certain something undesirable will happen. He settles on, “faith implies there isn't evidence to suggest I'm right to do so, while I think a better word choice is confidence. I have confidence in you.” Ed chokes on his breath, but Penguin has gotten rather good at bringing him down from these little outbursts. Slowly, as if Ed is some sort of cornered animal, Penguin moves his hands so they're just above Ed's elbows, and he applies just a bit of pressure with his thumbs. Ed’s never figured out what to do with his hands so they tend to hang limply between them, but whatever this odd little ritual is always drags Ed back to himself and into a sort of trance-like state. “Now, we're going to go over the evening together. There will be no pompous fanfare and no overblown speeches. You have already cemented a place for yourself in this empire. When you are ready you will,” he trails off to let Ed to fill in the blank.

“Go to the piano,” he says in a hushed voice. “I'll go to the piano,” he says louder, “and we'll trade places.”

“As seamlessly as possible,” Penguin adds. “This is symbolic.”

“It's very good,” Ed says, nodding fast.

“Yes it is,” Penguin preens for a moment, “because, as I said before, it represents your seamless transition into this empire. Just imagine where you were even,” he pauses, shrugging one shoulder when he settles on, “three months ago. Stunning, really, how much progress you've made.” He releases Ed's arms and steps back to check for any blemishes of Ed's appearance and finds almost none, excluding a bit of hair being out of place. After a few seconds of rearranging his bangs Penguin nods. “I was definitely right about this undercut.”

“It's grown on me,” Ed smirks. Even though he isn't in the room Penguin swears he can hear phantom laughter from Zsasz over the pun. “I really don't know how I ever be able to thank you, sir.”

“I'm going to let you in on a little secret,” Penguin says softly, leaning in so Ed has to lean down to hear him properly. “People forget that I wasn't much older than you are now when I began clawing my way to the top. Go out there and remind them that your generation is to be respected and feared in equal parts because of your raw talent. How's that sound for a thank you?”

“I,” Ed takes a deep breath and straightens his back, “I'll do it, sir.”

“I know you will,” he says, smiling fondly and patting Ed's lapel. “Now if you'll excuse me I have a bottle of red I've been neglecting, and you should finish getting ready. Once you've played for about an hour you are to join me at my table, as is tradition.”

He considers saying something else, some sort of little pep talk to leave on a good note, but nothing comes to mind. Ed's certainly doing better than when Penguin first entered the room, so he leaves after sparing one glance back to watch Ed as he begins doing a few stretches for his hands and arms. The panic has fully subsided, and although he's not particularly joyous his expression is calm and collected. It's only when he glances up, catching Penguin watching him instead of enjoying that bottle of red, that he breathes a bit easier, his calm settling into contentment. Penguin nods to him once before finally exiting his private dining room to sit at his table across from the piano.

Halfway into his second glass Penguin spots Ed as he emerges from his private dining room. He watches closely as Ed moves to stand beside the piano, and the house player barely acknowledges him before sliding to the right, allowing Ed to sit beside him. There's a brief moment where music pauses, just at the peak of the crescendo, and suddenly it's Ed's hands playing and the house player standing beside the bench.

 _Seamless_ , he thinks, raising his glass slightly before taking a drink. Ed's removed his glasses as planned, and Penguin understands why he claimed they were unnecessary. The house player is taking the sheet music with him and yet Ed continues on unbothered.

When Ed changes the music the tone is the same, but the some much more technical and involved. In his concentration Ed is biting the corner of his lip, and the constant dipping and bobbing of his head has dislodged his bangs so that they're hanging just barely below his brow line.

As he nears the end of the piece he glances up directly at Penguin, and although there's no way his impeded vision extends far enough to see him clearly he smiles, just a bit crooked and with his mouth open as he catches his breath, but it's charming and genuine and lights up his whole face.

The moment is ruined, of course, by Zsasz waving to get his attention and alternating between pointing at the back of Ed's head and several thumbs up. Penguin glares up at him and mouths, “get back to work,” and by the time he looks away from Zsasz Ed has returned his attention to the piano.


	6. Chapter 6

There's a leak in his roof.

It's small, hardly a drop a minute, but it's consistent and distracting during a time where, Penguin must admit, his attention span is already stretched rather thin. He taps his pen against the rim of the cup currently collecting the rainwater as it threatens to land on his cherrywood desk and warp the surface. He’s watched it go from a quarter full to nearly half, and the only thing he’s finished is a glass of a light bodied white.

Penguin tosses his pen aside and gathers up a few things in his arms before standing from his desk and reaching for his cane. If he's going to spend the day being distracted from work the distraction might as well be something he actually likes.

On his way out his office door he throws a demand at one of his men. “Go get a larger tub for that leak. I'll be relocating until it's patched.”

“Yes sir,” he says curtly and motors off, most likely to the kitchens for a dish tub. Oswald finishes taking the few steps separating his office door from Ed's and knocks once as a courtesy before opening it to a rather amusing scene.

Ed has a habit of spreading out when he works. Stacks up on stacks of papers litter his desk and an empty shelf of one of the built-ins, but Ed isn't frantic, he isn't running around like a madman, he's just working away, seemingly unbothered as he adds another sheet to a stack and hums along with the Bach concerto he's playing from his well worn but well maintained record player.

“Busy day?” Penguin asks. Ed smiles up at him and nods. “I’m afraid I'm going to disrupt your work a bit. Seems the rain has found a way to slip through some cracks in the roof directly above my desk.”

Ed blinks with surprise. “It's raining?” He looks to a window that isn't there and laughs under his breath. “Right. That explains that.”

“It's not torrential or anything,” Penguin says lightly, “but apparently it's enough. So, if you wouldn't mind,” he gestures to the disarray of Ed's desk.

“Absolutely, sir,” Ed pops up from his seat and pulls up a spare chair normally left against the wall and offers it up to Penguin with a little flourish before he starts clearing off a corner of his desk. He pauses mid motion, hands still full of papers and forms, and asks, “unless you would prefer my chair?”

“No,” Penguin scoffs, “no I'm doing enough to disrupt you. And besides,” he says as he reclines against the back of Ed's spare chair, “I'll just be reading a few reports. You're clearly doing,” Penguin puffs up his cheeks a bit as he tries to come up with an explanation for Ed's sprawl, “something important. What are you doing exactly?”

“I reorganize what legal distributions are linked with the illegal sales every few weeks. There's actually hundreds of possible combinations, but only a handful are efficient-” he stops himself, swallowing back whatever else he was going to excitedly blurt out and clearing his throat with a gentle cough. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be. I love when my employees are enthusiastic about their work.” Ed does a piss poor job of hiding his bright smile behind a bit of lip biting. It's rather charming. “You really have exceeded my expectations.”

“I don’t,” Ed laughs, “I don’t think I’ve  _ exceeded  _ any expectations, sir.”

“And  _ whose  _ expectations are they?” he teases. He points to himself, and Ed nods reluctantly. “Seems to me like they’re well exceeded.” He matches Ed’s wide smile with one of his own, delighting in the way it wrinkles the corners of Ed’s eyes when he smiles like this. He's been meaning to offer use of his dentist, the  _ real  _ dentist, but there's something so endearing about the slight overlap of Ed's lower incisors. Too many changes to Ed's little quirks and he becomes one of the faceless yes-men not fit for upper management of a criminal empire.

Penguin could spend all day highlighting Ed’s traits, (oh how he could count the ways or however the original passage went. Forty-some years have come and gone without Penguin developing a taste for leisure reading.) but unfortunately Ed cannot unless he wants his empire to crumble. Penguin stretches out his bad leg until it impacts with the closest desk leg. The squeal-thump isn't near as resonating as he aimed for, but it's enough to startle Ed into falling onto his seat.

“It seems I'm distracting you now,” Penguin teases. It's not worth a reprimand when he's the cause, and besides, a lost minute or two is hardly time theft.

Not that Ed seems to agree.

“I should have offered you my office,” Ed berates himself, already grabbing a few of his paper stacks and undoing his efforts to sort them. “If you don't mind sir I'll just use your office and you can have mine.”

Some days Penguin is certain Ed would gladly rip off his leg and hand it over if Penguin commented about wanting a replacement. Penguin clears his throat when Ed stands to get his attention. When he has Ed’s wide-eyed stare locked with his own he makes a very clear ‘sit’ gesture, and Ed obeys, but not without one last check. “You’re certain, sir?”

“I won’t have one of my best men working in sub-par conditions,” Penguin says plainly. Ed’s expression dances between delight and uncertainty while he begins re-sorting his papers into stacks. “Pay me no mind. I must admit,” he adds in a hushed tone, “that between the two of us I may be guilty of having the worse attention span.” He laughs, if only to show Ed that his muted smile isn’t unwelcome. “We’ll just have to hold each other accountable until someone can come by to patch the roof.”

Ed's little  _ nodnodnod _ of agreement leans a bit closer to distraction, especially when a stray lock of Ed's bangs escapes the rest of his unrestrained hair to lay teasingly over his forehead.

Zsasz may be into something if Penguin genuinely believes Ed's actual _ hair _ is trying to tease him, but Penguin's mother will rise from her grave before he even considers admitting that out loud.

Ruling an empire with competent employees is truly a blessing, because while Ed's work is dire Penguin's measly handful of general reports is definitely _ not _ . He'll read the reports soon. Eventually. Sooner rather than later is best because the  _ last  _ time he got a bit lax reading his daily reports Zsasz exercised a bit too much creative control and added a few clauses to the end of his to see if Penguin noticed. Unfortunately for a few of Penguin's former enemies he did not.

He can't imagine what additions Zsasz will try to stick in his reports but with his opinion on Ed fluctuating depending on the hour, and his baseless exaggerations about Penguin's image, he wouldn't put it past his head of security to deem Ed too great a risk and do away with him, for the sake of Penguin's empire of course.

Scribbled at the top of the page above the actual report is a note so irksome Penguin can feel his eyebrow twitching.  _ Stop staring at your boy and read this please :) _ .

He's going to kill him.

Except that he  _ can’t _ , because aside from losing his best security and blah blah blah, there’s the unfortunate detail that Zsasz may be onto something. Killing him basically admits that his overbearing concern holds a grain of truth at its very core, and the last thing Penguin’s empire needs is Victor Zsasz thinking he’s right.

_ Routine weapons inspection _ \- Penguin doesn't even bother with the rest of the paragraph. Zsasz's waxing poetic about the quality of his guns doesn't exactly captivate the mind.

_ Two men apprehended and sent to Blackgate, see report 2.  _ And of course there's no actual report 2. The jury's out on whether it's a genuine accident or a test but the result is the same; Penguin's going to have to follow up on this. Two men isn't significant on its own but the handful still incarcerated from the raid do. Zsasz's resources are far from limitless, unfortunately. They're going to have to consider recruiting a temporary force.

Penguin imagines throwing the reports in the air and reveling in the fluttering pages as they scatter around Ed’s office even as he neatly stacks them and sets them on the empty corner of the desk. Ed looks up with surprise, mid thought and still doing that little tongue thing he does when he focuses. “It's come to my attention that I'm missing a report from Zsasz. I trust my space here will be saved while I inquire with him?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Ed says, adding belatedly, “I'll be here.”

“Good,” Penguin says. “If you have a moment order up some wine. I have a feeling I'll need a drink after this conversation.”

Ed's nose is already buried back in his papers, though he manages a small, absent-minded nod in regards to Penguin's request.

Finding Zsasz is only difficult when he wants it to be, and the bellowing laughter from this floor hones Penguin onto his location just outside his office door. Zsasz glances to Penguin's office door and back to him, mock shock lighting up his eyes as he gestures at the door. “Boss I am so sorry-”

Penguin holds a hand up to his face. “Save whatever this is for your little groupies.” Zsasz grins down at him, all teeth and no empathy. “There's a leak.”

“Uh, yeah,” Zsasz says, “kind of already knew that, since we've been investigating and interrogating-”

“Not that! An  _ actual _ -!” Penguin stops himself, cheeks puffing out as he holds in his outburst. “My office, now,” he demands. He shoves Zsasz through the door and gestures to the plastic tub collecting the drips. There's a handyman on a ladder, leaning over a bit precariously as he holds a scraper of spackle and a cloth. “Out!” Penguin barks, jabbing his finger at the door.

“But Penguin it's still leaking all over-”

“I said out!” he breathes in great gulping breaths, seething at the man until he descends the ladder and leaves the room. Zsasz gives him a little wave as he shuts the door behind them.

“This is fun,” Zsasz says cheerily. Penguin swivels on his good leg to glare at him next. “Haven’t seen you blow up like this in  _ years _ , boss. You’re making me feel all nostalgic. Does this mean I get to start taking care of problems my way again?” He leans in to give Penguin a playful nudge with his elbow, and his agility allows him to slip just outside Penguin's range before he can swipe at him. “He's got you all riled up huh.”

“If this is an attempt at sympathy I'd give it another go.”

“Naw, just an observation boss,” Zsasz says as he drops himself into Penguin’s chair. “You know we can't really be effective bodyguards if you don't tell us where you're body's at.”

“I was  _ next door _ ,” he shrieks. “The, the leak,” he gestures, “it's  _ maddening _ .”

“Uh huh,” he says, though he's distracted with watching said leak as the next droplet falls into the tub.

“You're infuriating, I hope you realize that.” Penguin glowers down at Zsasz in one last attempt to get him to  _ act his age _ , but he remains intently focused on the drips. “I don't think you get to be critical of my actions when you forgot to give me an entire report.”

“Oh so you  _ did  _ read that,” he grins. Penguin grabs the nearest object, a small paperweight in the shape of the iceberg lounge logo, and lobs it at him. He catches it of course, still all smiles and mischief, but he at least has the decency to shake out his hand from catching the pointy object. “Wasn't sure if you were going to notice.”

“You do not need to  _ test  _ me. I'm still doing my work, and this is  _ my  _ empire! I could pay someone to read them if I wanted and-” Zsasz won't stop smirking at him. Penguin presses his lips together to keep his frustrated scream mostly contained. “ _ You _ .  _ Are _ .  _ Ridiculous _ .”

“You  _ gotta  _ say something boss.”

“I don't  _ have  _ to do anything.” Zsasz shakes his head with, what? Sympathy? Disappointment? Every possible rebuttal Penguin comes up with drips with whiny  _ angst _ , so he just stands there, eye twitching whenever another drop lands into the tub.

He really does hate when Zsasz has a point.

“Alright!” he shouts. Zsasz blinks as if he’s just woken. “I’ll,” Penguin sighs, “I’ll say something.”

Zsasz sits up and smiles. “Cool, so if he rejects you I get to kill him  _ then _ , right?”

“N-” he sputters, “No! He is a vital part of my empire, not just some  _ piece of ass. _ He just… also happens to have the potential to be that as well.”

“Fine,” he says distractedly, still watching the dripping water. “You know maybe you  _ should  _ turn this into a feature.”

“Enough,” he says. “I’m going to go back to his office to  _ work _ .”

“So while you do this ‘work’,” he air quotes, “what do you want my guys to do?”

Penguin can’t even bring himself to get angry at him again. “I really do hate you sometimes, I hope you’re aware of that.”

“Good luck,” Zsasz calls out to him. The most sincerity Penguin can manage is to at least not snipe at him as he leaves.

He barges into Ed’s office, nodding to him when Ed stares up at him in shock. As promised, his space is untouched and untaken, so he reclaims the chair and scoops up the reports he does have. “Ed,” he says without looking away from the papers, “I have something we'll need to discuss later.” He looks up at the expected unease on Ed's face. “Nothing  _ serious _ , or, nothing seriously  _ wrong _ . It's more of a personal matter.”

“Personal,” Ed parrots.

“That's right. I assume you're free tonight? Seven? Or will you be entertaining?”

“Enter-? No, no sir I,” he coughs once, “I don't entertain. Haven't entertained. I have not gotten a chance to entertain,” he settles on that.

“Seven, then. Your apartment.” And he leaves it at that.

-

He dresses practically, and avoids the temptation to break the evening's ice with some sort of gift. This is meant to be a practical meeting, and regardless of the outcome Penguin will be returning to his own bed alone tonight.

Ed continues to dodge his attempts to move him into a different place, but Penguin can see the fruits of his labors targeting the building itself are paying off. Surfaces are shined or at least free of tasteless graffiti. The elevator isn't making that horrid hissing whine as it takes Penguin to Ed's floor. If he could only convince Ed to let him buy out the other tenants on his floor they could begin renovations to make it the apartment he deserves.

Penguin raps his knuckles on the door three times, and by the time the third knock fades from hearing Ed is sliding the door open and peeking out sheepishly. “I'm afraid I'm a bit underdressed. I was cooking, but I can change-”

“Ed this is  _ your  _ apartment. You're allowed to be comfortable here.” He shoos Ed away from the door so he can enter and comes to a standstill in the center of the room. Ed is dressed down, but not schlubby, in his undershirt and a pair of drawstring pants. There's something fragrant and vaguely spicy on the stove, the blessed cooking that resulted in Penguin catching Ed in his casual wear. “You haven't eaten?”

“I thought,” Ed says, “maybe you, if you're not busy of course, you could join me? You don't have to!” he adds quickly.

“Unfortunately I am,” he says reluctantly, “but I'll consider that an open invitation for another day. Now,” he lopes back into a steady stride and settles onto Ed's couch, “why don't we start our little discussion. Feel free to keep tending to that,” he gestures to the stove. “I don't for see this taking long.”

Ed returns to the stove and begins stirring the pot. “You said it was serious earlier, sir.”

“I did,” he agrees. “But it's  _ personal _ , as I said before. You don't have to look so stressed.”

“I think it's just anticipation, sir.”

“Fair enough. Anticipate no more. I have a certain, proposition, we'll go with that. I want to preface this with you still have every right to say no.”

“The last veto,” Ed fills in. “I remember.”

“Hmm, no,” Penguin says. Ed turns away from his dinner and to Penguin, looking confused but intrigued. “This is outside that little system. Your assent or lack thereof doesn't rely on a silly veto, no. You are welcome to tell me to never mention this again if you so desire.” He smiles, but Ed just looks queasy. “Ed, if that pot doesn't need stirring maybe you should come sit.”

“Okay,” he says, breathy and nervous but so ready to scamper over and sit to Penguin's right.

Penguin can't help but laugh, just a little. “You're acting like you're in trouble. You aren't, for your information.” Ed barks out a laugh, clearly relieved, and maybe a little bit embarrassed for his worries. “I'm not going to sully the sanctity of your  _ apartment _ .”

“I know, or, I assumed, but well, an ass of you and me, as it goes, sir.” He's smiling, bright and a little toothy, but it fades, and it takes some of Penguin's calm with it. “So um, why  _ did  _ you want to talk?”

“Ed I've known you for several months, and I'd like to think that I've gotten to know you rather well during this time. I don't think it's reaching for me to think you prefer things direct and honest?” he pauses, and Ed nods. “Good. Then I'll just say, Ed, I am attracted to you,” and Ed sucks in a startled breath. “You aren't the first man I've informed nor engaged in, not that I think my experience is boast worthy but it isn't nothing either. But here's where you come in, Ed,” he turns to face Ed's deer-in-the-headlights stare full on.

“I'm a,” Ed gulps, “I don't have, um-”

Penguin places his hand over Ed's and he stills. “That doesn't matter.”

“Okay,” he breathes.

“I'm telling you this, Ed, because this is an offer of sorts. If you have interest in pursuing a personal relationship then that's what we'll do. If not,” he shrugs, “then we'll keep things professional.” He glances down as Ed changes their soft hand hold into a crushing grip. The wince, it seems, goes unnoticed. “This is the important part, Ed. I do not want you agreeing to this just because you think it's what I want to hear. Your place in my empire is independent of your optional place in my bed.”

“I,” he falters, “I don't…”

“You don't have to decide now,” Penguin says. That got dangerously close to a decline and he's not in the mood to bare a bit of himself  _ and  _ be rejected in the same night.

“It's not, I'm not,” he takes a deep breath, and as he exhales his grip loosens. “I don't think I can decide anything without a bias.”

Penguin glances down at their hands again, but commenting on them feels too much like leading, even if the act is rather telling.

“Why don't I propose this as a scenario?” he asks. “What if, right now, I were to kiss you?” Ed sucks in his lower lip, and then they part. He's already thinking about it. “Would you like that?”

“I,” he shudders. “I don’t-”

“Would you push me away?”

“No!” He blurts out. “Um, no, I… I wouldn't do that, sir.”

“But you don't know if you'd like that?” He asks innocently. Ed's cheeks pink up, and Penguin understands just how all encompassing Ed's lack of experience really is. “Here,” he says softly, and he brushes a bit of Ed's hair behind his ear before cupping his cheek. “Why don't you just try, and see if it's something you like. If that's okay with you,” he adds. Ed grips Penguin's wrist, running his thumb over his pulse point. He nods.

Penguin pulls Ed closer and kisses him, and rather unsurprisingly but no less pleasant, Ed starts to kiss back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to edit this a bit later but I wanted to at least get this up.

“The leads are cold,” Ed says plainly. He's ticking off another check on the pad of paper in his hands, and Penguin feels the sting of every mark. “Zsasz's men await trial, although if you ask me the Gotham Judicial System holds such a strong bias against you-”

“Ed, please just skip to anything  _ good  _ you have to tell me.” He loves Ed's attention to detail, truly. It's been an age since he was so well informed, but having to watch a mole continue to slip through his grasp after having incited a raid at not one but  _ two  _ of his secret distribution locations is starting to tax his patience.

(Though admittedly it's not  _ actually  _ getting worse, it's just not getting any better. Stagnant projects aren't negative, they just  _ are _ , and as much as he hates them he needs to remain objective.)

“I um,” Ed bites his lower lip in a failed attempt to stop himself from frowning as he examines his notepad. “How loosely can I define good, sir?”

Penguin groans and lets his face rest against his desk for a moment before popping back up and tossing his hands in a helpless gesture. “How loosely are you suggesting?”

“Threadbare.”

“I was afraid of that,” Penguin sighs. “Let's enact a new policy. If things haven't changed just don't tell me about them.”

“You,” Ed boggles at Penguin, falters, “you don't want to know how your projects are doing?”

Penguin knows Ed understands, but he does love his double (or sometimes triple) checks. Some days it leans a bit closer to irksome than endearing, depending on how many things have already gone wrong.

(He appreciates the gesture, he really does, but the young man really could do with some more self confidence.)

“You're doing a marvelous job,” he settles on. “I'm sure I've told you that a thousand times, and I do mean it every time. Before you took over distributions I'd gotten accustomed to employees that tend to lack the sense to inform their boss on the day to day dealings with their post, and I suppose the turnaround still gives me a bit of shellshock. I'll leave the judgement to you of course, but until I say otherwise no news means no change.”

“Alright,” Ed says, slowly, as he's also writing something down on the notepad. “In that case I should get back to work.”

“Oh,” Penguin blinks. He hadn't meant to eviscerate some of their only time together during the work day in favor of a simple ignorance is bliss policy, but here they are. “Well, I suppose there can't be progress every day.”

“Sir,” Ed agrees with a quick nod. He turns to the door, Penguin allows himself to indulge in a bit of 'hate to see you go but love to watch you leave’ peevishness, and then suddenly Ed's ass is replaced with his groin and Penguin forces his gaze up after an unfortunately long delay. Ed clearly noticed, unless something else has him all flustered.

“There is one thing.”

“Oh?” Penguin leans forward, resting his chin on one fist. “And what might that be?”

“The new butcher shop that opened in your territory last week gave me a very good deal on steak. Two steaks. Or, um, if you're interested I have two steaks, or I could get-”

“That sounds lovely,” he says to stop Ed's ramble. “Tonight at seven?”

“Seven,” Ed confirms. He smiles. “I'll be ready.”

-

Penguin arrives at Ed's apartment fashionably early. Fashionably because he'd worn a new suit with a lovely brocade lapel that complements his eyes, and early because technically he has three minutes until the clock strikes seven. He gives Ed's metal door three sharp taps with the top of his cane and stands back until the heavy deadbolt snicks and Ed peeks out at him.

“I'm afraid I'm running behind,” he says, sheepish. “The marinade took longer than expected to prepare.” He steps aside and beckons Penguin inside his still modest, although now rather well furnished, apartment. “I hope that's okay.”

“I'm not in any  _ rush _ ,” Penguin laughs. “It's a  _ date _ , Ed, not a business meeting.”

“Right,” Ed laughs, a bit self deprecating but still sincere. “Would you like anything? I still have the bottle of wine we didn't open from last time.”

Penguin waves off the offering of alcohol, though it does sound tempting. “Not before dinner.”

He takes a moment to admire Ed's casual clothes; his soft know slacks and undershirt, the little pair of loafers he's only ever worn to shuffle about his home, and though nothing he's currently in is tailored to his body type it all suits his leggy frame.

Ed looks down at himself when he notices penguin staring and shuffled side to side a bit. “I feel underdressed.”

“We wouldn't want your nice clothes getting messy.” Penguin pats Ed's chest and lets his fingers smooth across the soft cotton until Ed starts blushing. “I'm feeling a bit hedonistic today. Why don't we skip straight to dessert?”

Ed, in all his virginal wisdom, doesn't seem to catch onto Penguin's innuendo. “Oh, well, I hadn't planned a dessert, but I could start one now. Do you have one in mind?”

Penguin sighs fondly. This boy (young man, really just  _ man  _ is fine, although boy feels right given the circumstance) is far too endearing for the life he's living. He tugs Ed's face down and kisses him, and then again to clarify that it wasn't meant to be taken as a greeting. “I think this will do nicely.”

“Oh, oh!” Ed exclaims. “Um, you weren't being literal. Okay-”

“Ed.”

“Yes,” he nods, too, which Penguin takes to mean his agreement. “Yes, just. Just give me one minute.”

“Does anything need done in the kitchen?” Penguin asks as Ed skitters away, sending him into an amusing tailspin as he whirls around to face Penguin, eyes boggling. “The meat, Ed.”

“It's,” he gestures to the fridge, “marinating. It's fine. I just,” he straightens up and expels a nervous breath, laughing with just a tinge of mania at the edges. He's excited. “I'll only be a minute. I just,” he points to his mouth, clamps it shut when he realizes Penguin's smirk is because of his nervous ramble, and ducks into the bathroom, one hand rubbing at his flushing cheek. The tap turns on, shortly followed by the frantic sounds of teeth brushing.

It's a ritual Penguin both did not initiate and does not understand. Ed's gotten some strange notion about kissing and potentially stale breath, but it's another precious little endearment Penguin has no intention of quashing. The little ritual seems to help his confidence in any case, and anything that builds upon such a fragile thing is to be encouraged.

And the moment Ed returns Penguin can see the difference in his posture. It’s not a swagger but something adjacent to it, and it warms Penguin’s heart to see the bright, crooked smile on his face. Penguin beckons Ed over with a little flourish, removing his gloves and tucking them into his breast pocket before tugging Ed’s minty fresh mouth down for another kiss.

Guiding Ed through so much uncharted territory takes a great deal of patience, but Ed’s enthusiasm is a definite boon. He lets Ed control the pace of the kiss (slow, and somewhat chaste) but takes charge of other, more important matters, like running his hand down his lean chest, settling on his bony hips, and sneaking his hands up under soft cotton, smirking when such a simple touch makes Ed gasp, the mint scent briefly overwhelming his nose before Ed’s aftershave takes back over.

Penguin’s arousal burns low and slow, but poor Ed’s is a firecracker, sudden and fast and over far too soon. Ed’s grip on Penguin’s lapel is tight, his hands flexing and relaxing as Penguin’s hands roam. He hums out a confused little note when Penguin’s hands start undoing the button of his pants, followed by a full face flush that bleeds down his neck.

“Oh, um-”

“Yes?” Ed nods, keeps on nodding away as Penguin pulls down his zipper and touches him with just a few, firm strokes. Just as Ed’s gotten his bearings back enough to lean in for a kiss Penguin twists his wrist, smirking up as Ed’s mouth falls open and his eyes shut tight. “Don't refrain on my account, there,” he hums. Ed swallows down a groan, and Penguin makes the unfortunate discovery that his trousers are going to need a thorough dry-cleaning before they're fit for public wear.

Ed's legs don't give out as much as they just slump. He drops back onto his mattress, causing the springs to protest with a chorus of squeaks.

“That um, it's very-”

“Good?”

“Tiring,” Ed sighs, “but yes, also that. I'm,” he swallows again, sighs deeper, letting himself sag a bit, “I just need a minute.”

Penguin placates Ed with a few gentle pats to his shoulder. “Ed, I'm  _ far  _ from finished.” His enthusiasm is charming but it's going to take more than a few unskilled hand strokes to get Penguin off. “There's no obligation.”

“But-”

“Ah ah ah,” penguin chides him, and runs his clean fingers through Ed's hair, urging him to lean in until he's resting his face against Penguin's stomach. He settles there comfortably after pocketing his smudged glasses. “You underestimate the thrill of biding your time. It's like a hunt.”

It's not the full truth, but it's also not an outright lie. There's something very satisfying from watching Ed come undone from so little, but the thought of coaching Ed long enough to get them both fully satisfied is mentally exhausting. These short bursts are giving him some very nice material to consider at home, and it has the added bonus of breaking Ed in without also breaking his confidence.

“You're falling asleep on me,” he teases, but also with some self preservation in mind. His leg isn't made to support his own weight some days let alone someone else's. Ed snorts, blinks awake, and sits up, looking equal parts sheepish and sleepy. “Rest.”

“Dinner’s not ready,” he says, slurring, a bit punch drunk in his post orgasm daze. He can hardly keep his eyes open. Penguin gives him a  _ look _ , and Ed stops his feeble protests and stretches out on the top of his old quilt. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” he says firmly, sealing it with a quick kiss to his temple. “You mentioned a nice bottle of wine I left here. I'm sure I can supplement until you've recovered enough to properly handle cutlery.”

-

He doesn't stay for breakfast, or even spend the night. Ed's home is his sanctuary, as much as Penguin's suite atop his favorite night club is his. Besides, Ed has a hard enough time keeping his blushing at bay the day after one of their meetups. If he had to ride into work with Penguin he just may die from the strain.

It suits Penguin just fine. He needs a few hours in the morning to get in the right mindset to run his empire without cooing at his young companion's lingering innocence. It's important that lines don't start to blur.

But the series of insistent knocks is so Ed-like that Penguin doesn't bother to harden his voice, calling out a soft, “come in,” and scowling when it's Zsasz peeking in, not Ed. He's considerably less enthused about the intrusion. “What.”

“Sorry I'm not your boy toy,” he deadpans. “Got something important. Looks like I'm not really interrupting anything.”

“Well, you  _ are _ .” He isn't. “Just hurry up so I can get back to work.” (To thinking about Ed last night.)

“He's got a secret,” Zsasz says, and he strides over so he can loudly slap a sheet of paper onto Penguin's desk. “Two names.”

Penguin picks up the document carefully, handling it just at the corners, and he studies the blurry copy of a student ID with a very young, teenaged Ed staring up at him in a comical, bewildered way. But his involuntary smile fades when he reads Edward Nashton, not Nygma, through the haze of the poor quality of the copy.

“Nashton,” he says aloud.

“You know, I was starting to actually like the guy,” Zsasz says, full of what can't be genuine remorse. “Guess you'll want this taken care of.”

“This is all you've found?” He shakes the paper for emphasis.

“So far,” Zsasz says. “So I was thinking my guys will try to get ahold of the rest and I'll see what I can get out of him. No need to thank me, just doing my jo-”

“Do you remember a Naston listed at the GCPD?” he asks as he carefully folds the paper into thirds and slips it into his breast pocket. Zsasz’s cheeks puff up with irritation. “Well?”

Zsasz lets out his frustration in the form of an unattractive snort. “No, but boss-”

“Enough.” Penguin stands and holds out a hand, glaring at Zsasz until he sighs and hands over the basement key. “You forget that I’ve been doing this for nearly half my life. I  _ do  _ have an instinct about this sort of thing, and one measly  _ student ID  _ does not concern me as much as it seems to concern you.”

“We haven’t found everything,” Zsasz warns. “Who knows that that string bean is hiding.”

“Don’t pretend that most of your concern isn’t the fact that I’m not letting you torture him,” Penguin snips. “I  _ do  _ understand your stance, Victor. This is still a concern and I will  _ handle  _ it. And if,” he sighs, “if I  _ do  _ find reason, I will bring in your expertise to get to the bottom of this.”

“You’re getting soft,” Zsasz accuses. Penguin doesn’t turn around until he’s already to the door, and when he does Zsasz is as unamused as he feels. “Guy could be a spy for all you know but you’re just worried about keeping your plaything.”

“And?” It’s not a direct admission, but it’s enough to stun Zsasz into silence long enough for Penguin to leave his office.

Zsasz does have a point though, and he has every intention of handling this little oversight with a firm hand. He has an empire to maintain, and he’s not throwing away twenty years of hard work for one young man. However, when Ed looks up from his desk as Penguin enters that damned crooked smile creeps up again, and he just about walks back out the door instead of ruining the moment.

“We need to talk,” he says, no greeting or preamble. It sounds sufficiently firm, but he didn’t envision the bite he hears once it’s out of his mouth.

There’s a chance he’s more irritated by this lie by omission than he let on.

“Is something wrong?”

“Come with me, Ed.” He turns away from Ed and moves towards the elevator. Behind him there’s a scramble of wood scraping against wood and possibly some papers flying, but after several thumping steps Ed appears by his side, fretting with his fingers but otherwise maintaining his composure.

Penguin chooses the roof for their little chat. There’s a pleasant breeze, unhindered by nearby buildings or any unpleasant smells wafting from the industrial district. He stands with his cane in front of him, both hands folded over the diving hawk handle. Ed doesn’t seem to know how to hold himself. He switches from favoring one leg, hands clasped in front of him, to a ramrod straight stand at attention with his arms at his sides.

“If Zsasz had his way you’d already be in the basement at his mercy,” Penguin says. Ed swallows, but says nothing. “I thought I’d give you the chance to be truthful about something he’s brought to my attention.” Penguin fishes the folded paper from his pocket and holds it out for Ed to take. “Explain.”

Ed unfolds the paper, hands shaking, but his reaction isn’t shock, or fear. It’s mournful. “This is my student ID.”

“I’m more interested in the  _ name  _ on your ID, Ed.”

Ed looks up, and back down at the copy of his ID. “It’s, Penguin, sir, I want to qualify-”

“Ed.”

“This is my high school ID,” he spits out. “I, Nashton is, well, it  _ was  _ my last name.” He looks up for some sort of response, and Penguin waves his hand, indicating for Ed to continue. “I changed it when I was emancipated at seventeen.”

“And you didn’t think this was important enough to mention earlier?”

“I try not to think about it, sir,” Ed says softly. “It’s, that name holds unpleasant,” he trails off. “I think some things are better staying in the past where they belong.”

Penguin studies Ed’s body language from the sad droop of his shoulders to the way he’s cradling the image of his younger self. He has a sneaking suspicion Zsasz won’t be finding anything else of note under Ed’s old name. “Why don’t you sit,” Penguin says, gesturing to the sorry excuse for a bench near the roof access door. After Ed complies Penguin joins him, though he maintains some physical distance. “I’m sure you realize,” he starts, and Ed glances up, intrigued, “I’m sure you realize my mother did not look down at her precious, newborn son and decided  _ Penguin  _ was the ideal name for me.”

Ed laughs under his breath. “No, sir, I know your birth name.”

“Many do,” Penguin says. “Sometimes it’s difficult to overcome the hindrances attached to a name.” He taps a finger against the paper, poking at little Ed’s gaunt cheek. “I meant what I said though, Ed. Had Zsasz decided to have even a bit more initiative,” he trails off with a sigh, “well I’m sure you know what he’s capable of. This,” he takes the paper again, “cannot happen again. There cannot be secrets between us, especially if on the surface they are incredibly suspect.”

Ed nods. Penguin plants his cane with the intent to stand, but Ed says, “I tried to work for the GCPD,” and Penguin drops back down. “I um, you said no secrets, so,” he shrugs one shoulder. “I didn’t, obviously. I didn’t even get my foot in the door, aside from a tour, but that’s something open to the public-”

“Ed,” he places a hand over Ed’s, “why don’t you go back to the start of this admission.”

“It goes back a bit farther,” Ed says. He turns his hand over and watches Penguin’s finger trace a circle on his palm. “Following my graduate program completion our lead professor thought it wise to have the students rate one another. His intent was to show us where we could improve, but,” Ed huffs out an angry breath, “apparently I was bad enough to warrant an actual folder decorated to my “transgressions”.” Something darker thunders across his expression, but it passes and Ed looks tired in the aftermath. “I can’t get a recommendation, or any job offers that aren’t unsavory.”   
“And here you are,” Penguin says cheerily. “Well, I can honestly say it’s their loss.”

“The GCPD was my last attempt before working for you, sir.” He’s quick to add, “not that I’m disappointed. I was at first, but,” he looks down at their hands, twitching a finger to tap at Penguin’s hand. “I’m glad I started working for you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to leave this here and then vanish again for like, a month while I try to drag my ass back to productivity town.

Penguin takes a cautionary sip of his coffee, and grimaces and sets it aside when it’s too hot to drink. He returns to his reports, flipping through the first few without paying too much attention; it’s a few innocent memos from the restaurant downstairs about private gatherings, they’re not urgent to address. Zsasz’s is short, bland, and less insulting because he’s stopped leaving rude messages to test if Penguin is reading the entire memo.

However, he is missing Ed’s report. Penguin sighs and picks up his mug, blowing at the steaming surface as he gets up and makes his way to Ed’s office.

Zsasz is in his usual place just outside their doors in a faux-lazy slouch. He nods to Penguin as he approaches. “Boss.”

“Victor.” Penguin raises his mug briefly and takes a sip, but it’s still too hot to enjoy.

“Your boy didn't use his driver this morning,” Zsasz drawls, one foot still out in the hallway. “Guess he didn't show.”

Penguin sighs, “well that does explain his missing report.”

“Got too greedy last night,” Zsasz teases, waggling his hairless brow suggestively.

“Actually, no,” Penguin snaps. “Not that it  _ matters _ . I made it here without difficulty. I can’t imagine a young man like Ed would fare worse after a long night.” Though if he’s spent the whole night in his office he may just need to use Penguin’s private rooms again. “I’ll go put an end to his little manic state.”

“I’ll clear the hall,” Zsasz sighs. “You’re really coddling this guy, boss.”

“And yet here you are aiding me in doing so,” he points out. Zsasz shakes his head and starts belting out orders to the remaining guards on this floor. “Without being told I might add!” he calls out. Zsasz doesn't react, though there's no way he didn't hear.

Penguin opens Ed’s door, expecting to see him neck deep in papers trying to catch up, or maybe just a touch manic, with a wide grin and some very clever (if a bit eccentric) ideas to hide their shipments from the GCPD's prying eyes. He’ll boggle when Penguin reveals the time, and after a bit of posturing he’ll agree that Penguin is right and he should rest.

But there’s no piles of papers and a frantic Ed, no series of coffee mugs or other, “younger” methods to caffeinate; the room is empty, untouched since yesterday when Penguin personally placed Ed’s watch in the center of his desk following the completion of a small repair.

“Victor,” he calls behind him, and in an instant he’s looming over Penguin’s shoulder, also taking in the untouched scene. “Ready my car. We’re looking into this personally.”

-

Penguin knows the route to Ed's apartment from the restaurant by heart. He navigates the city streets with ease despite his frayed nerves. He can't seem to keep his foot from jiggling unless he glares at it, which is a compelling reason to let Zsasz drive, but he's too much of a tenderfoot behind the wheel for Penguin's tastes.

“You know, this is kind of exciting,” Zsasz comments. He's polishing one of his pistols with a microfiber cloth and  _ not taking this seriously _ . “Been awhile since I've seen you behind the wheel.”

“We're handling this with  _ discretion _ , Victor.” He takes a turn a bit sharper than intended and grimaces when the wheel pops up on the curb.

“I don't know who told you road rage is discreet, boss, but they lied.”

“He wasn’t in his office. He didn't answer his _ phone _ , Victor. I can't think of any good reasons to explain that.”

“Tossed it?” Zsasz guesses. “He's supposed to do that, you know.”

“Yes,” Penguin grumbles, “but he's _ meticulous.  _ He changes his phone on the same day every month. He changed it _ two weeks ago _ .”

Zsasz hums thoughtfully and holsters his gun. “So what’s the like, best and worst case here?”

“The worst is, despite your inability to find evidence to the contrary, that he truly is working for the GCPD or some other nuisance law enforcement agency, and the other shoe is about to drop.” Penguin shakes his head to clear away the lingering doubt. “I haven’t come up with a best case scenario. Anything other than  _ that  _ seems sufficient.”

“Think that includes him being dead, boss.”

Penguin's gloves squeak against the leather interior as he grips the steering wheel tighter. “It goes without saying that  _ that  _ isn't included.”

He pulls into the lot for Ed's building and parks near the tenant entrance. Zsasz hops out first before the car is fully stopped, and he's waiting patiently by the door, holding his head high and ignoring Penguin's glare as he approaches.

“Lot's clear,” he says.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He shakes his head. “Just go inside. We'll start with his apartment,” Penguin says. The halls are empty, and even in the very unlikely event Zsasz is correct about Ed’s secret life there wouldn't be any evidence down here. He gestures to the single elevator and Zsasz punches the button a few times until it arrives at the ground floor with a soft bing.

They step inside and stand in the center of the elevator, Zsasz with his hands behind his back and Penguin fidgeting with his cane top. The air is tense, which isn't helped when Zsasz begins whistling tunelessly. Penguin’s eye twitches with each non-musical note. “Stop that.”

“This elevator could use some music,” he says idly. “Guess the building's not really that fancy.”

“It's being refurbished,” Penguin says. “Or maybe Ed would say renovated. Anyway, I think this was the old toy factory if the giant neon sign is anything to go by.” He glances over to Zsasz to gauge his interest in the matter, but his affect remains flat. “The old elevator was derelict. I'm shocked it never plummeted.”

He doesn't like the mental picture of Ed's elevator crashing to the earth. He's just overslept, or maybe his phone is broken. He's  _ fine _ . “I just wish he'd let me turn the top floor into a penthouse.”

“Maybe he likes small things,” Zsasz quips. Penguin knows better than to react but Zsasz is just so  _ infuriating _ . He watches Zsasz's smile widen in the reflective surface of the elevator doors and wills himself to not bludgeon him with his cane.

“I just think,” he starts, and then pauses to take another breath when his voice sounds too angry out loud, “I just think his status in my empire should be represented in some way. I don't see you complaining about your accommodations.”

“Boss, come on.” Zsasz starts listing things, ticking them off on his fingers as he goes. “You already got him the fancy haircut, and the clothes, the  _ watch _ -”

“That is his  _ seal _ , thank you. And his style was appalling.”

“You gave him a driver, and you're trying to upgrade his digs. You’re making me come with you to check on your boy toy-”

“Do you have a  _ point _ , Victor?” he says with equal parts false cheer and vitriol.

“Man, you must really be thirsty for this guy.” He shakes his head. “Good thing he's such a tall drink of water.”

“That is enough!” Penguin shouts. Zsasz backs up, hands up with mock surrender even as he laughs. “I don't see why you refuse to take this seriously, and instead insist on choosing to berate me for daring to engage in something _ personal _ !”

“You're the one that said your gut wasn't giving you any warnings about this kid,” Zsasz reminds him. “And no one found anything, and you didn't let me torture him-”

“And I still  _ won't _ ,” Penguin warns. “I don't know why I haven't killed you yet, honestly.”

“If this  _ is  _ serious I'll let you try, boss,” Zsasz says. How thoughtful. “So what's the  _ real  _ worst case scenario? Guy's almost  _ definitely  _ not with the GCPD.” Penguin blinks. “You think he skipped town or something?”

“No,” Penguin sighs. “We never did find the mole.”

“Or moles,” Zsasz adds.

“Right.” The elevator dings and the doors slide open. He takes three steps into the hall, taking out Ed's key as he walks, but he stops in the middle of the open space.

His door is open. There's something about this that Penguin can't parse. Ed's not standing in the doorway, so why would he leave it open?

He wouldn't. Penguin rockets forward and opens it the rest of the way, peering into the space and scanning for Ed in some sort of prone state.

There's a suit jacket in the middle of the floor, crumpled and wrinkling underneath a hanger and Ed's set of keys. A small end table near the couch is overturned, the kitchen smells of something just a few ticks past stale, and the remaining upright furniture is out of sorts, pushed aside as if it were in the way.

“He’s not in here,” Zsasz calls from the bathroom.  _ Now  _ he’s taking this seriously.

“Walk me through this,” Penguin says softly. “Don’t speculate too wildly.”

“Got a struggle here,” he gestures to the furniture, and Penguin nods. “Probably right before he was planning to leave.”

He closes his eyes takes a few slow breaths. “There isn’t any blood,” he says, “so I think it’s safe for us to assume he’s been taken by someone.”

“Could be the GCPD,” Zsasz suggests.

“No, he knows to call if that ever happened.” Penguin shakes his head and gestures for Zsasz to follow. He leads them out into the hall and gestures up at the corner near the window where a small camera is installed. “We’ll need the tape from that camera.”

-

Penguin taps his foot impatiently while Zsasz hums away, oblivious or uncaring that he's holding the clue to Ed's fate in his hands while he bumbles around with the tech crew's equipment. “Do you even know what you're doing?”

“You gotta stay fresh, boss,” he says from the desk. He's stopped crawling around on the floor, looking for some part or a pack or some other technical word lost on Penguin's classic vocabulary. “You know, new guns these days are getting pretty tech savvy, and I don't want-”

“Just get the video,” Penguin snaps. “I have a tech crew  _ for a reason _ .”

“You're the one that wants to do this quietly,” Zsasz reminds him. He clicks and clacks a few things and sits back, grinning with triumph as a feed of Ed's empty hallway appears on the center screen.

“There's nothing,” Penguin says, and his smile sags.

“You gotta go to the right  _ time _ , boss,” Zsasz grumbles, mumbling something about “hot young IT guys” as he fiddles with the computer.

“What was that?” Penguin leans in, leering, but Zsasz taps the screen with two fingers and it drags his attention to Ed's hallway where three burly men are standing just outside the door.

His mouth drops open, but he can’t find the words. Zsasz speeds up the video, and past the white static haze lines across the screen he watches the trio just about knock Ed’s door of its slider until he answers, darts out of the camera’s view, and then the trio push their way inside. The hallway is empty for a few sped up seconds, and then the trio returns, this time with Ed between two of them, hands bound behind his back and head covered with some sort of cloth; they’re marching him along down the hall. He trips, and they drag him along until he manages to right his legs under him.

It’s empty until he and Zsasz show up sometime later.

Zsasz snaps his fingers and Penguin blinks. “I know that dude,” he says, and rewinds until the trio are coming out of the apartment and their faces are visible. He jabs his finger at the man to Ed’s left. “He’s, uh,” he waves a hand, “I swear you changed the rank title-”

“ _ Victor _ .”

“He’s just some low-level grunt,” Zsasz says. “Probably all are. None of them are lieutenants.”

“Ready your sniper rifle,” Penguin says softly.

“Which one?”

“Wh- Victor you  _ swore _ -”

“He’s leverage,” he says. Penguin looks back to Ed in the paused video; disheveled and bound but relatively unharmed. “So, we doing this in the open, probably, so am I going for distance-”

“I keep you around because this is  _ your  _ area of expertise. Just get ready.” He huffs out a breath. “I’ll be waiting for a call.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my only shot to really get this up before I move.

The trio of soon to be dead men think they’re clever by using a voice changer when they call his office phone. His  _ personal  _ phone, which he knows isn’t known outside of his lieutenants and distributions crew. Penguin scribbles down the words ‘docks’ and ‘5 pm’ and slams his phone down when the call ends.

“They aren’t going to live long enough to properly regret this decision.” He turns to Zsasz, watching him clean the outside of his sniper rifle with a soft cloth. “Remind me to enforce some higher standards for lower level grunts in my empire once we’re done dealing with this.”

“Picky standards, got it,” Zsasz says, still only giving this situation a fraction of the seriousness it deserves. “What’s the demand?”

“Money. It’s always money.” Penguin tosses his hands up in frustration, and lets them slap against his legs when he brings them down. “Ed’s still alive. Not that it’s a great surprise since they’re making demands.”

“If the kid knows one thing it’s how to be submissive,” Zsasz says lightly, which, he’s not exactly  _ wrong _ . He stands, slings his sniper rifle over one shoulder, and jerks his head towards the door. “We good to go, boss?”

Words feel wrong in his throat, so he settles with a curt nod before pushing himself out of his chair. Zsasz remains right on his heels as they exit the restaurant through the door leading to the parking lot. Penguin slides into the driver's seat of his car and Zsasz gets in the back, slipping his rifle down onto his lap and cradling it with care.

His voice doesn't return until they're nearly to the docks, and it's a sharp, snapping thing, filled with teeth and frustration. “Am I really so obvious? That, that having this-this young man in my ranks is a clear sign his absence would  _ matter  _ to me?”

“You promoted him awful fast,” Zsasz says. Penguin watches from the rear view mirror as he leans back and spreads his limbs wide. “Kid is smart though.”

“And here I thought you only wanted to kill him, sorry, to  _ torture  _ him.”

“He's growing on me,” Zsasz says. He's not looking Penguin's reflection in the eye, he isn't even looking forward. “He got me this gun.  Expedited it too.”

“He knows you'll be placated if you get a new toy,” Penguin snaps. Zsasz snorts out a laugh. “He's, I do hate this saying, but he's a breath of fresh air.”

“You like him.”

“Is that so wrong?” Ed's a smart, talented, attractive man, at least once you chip away the jittery exterior. “Am I too despicable to deserve some sort of companionship?”

“Your empire, your rules,” Zsasz says, “but they're your consequences too, boss.”

Zsasz’s comment is oddly insightful, and Penguin doesn’t have anything in him to try to come up with an equally intelligent response. “I’ll be dropping you off here,” he says while they’re still a few blocks away from the meeting spot. “Keep your communication line clear, and wait for the signal. Once you shoot one of them the sound-”

“Can I do my thing?” Zsasz interrupts. “You'll do your words, I'll do my shooting, and Ed'll be back in your bed in no time.”

Penguin bristles. “You really  _ can't  _ take things seriously, can you.”

“Keeping loose,” he says as he bounces on the balls of his feet. “Three fast shots on a windy day isn't that easy.”

“I have confidence in your ability,” he says, because he can't falter now. Zsasz's role is integral to getting Ed back unharmed. Zsasz nods and walks from the car and towards a large metal crane.

He drives to the center of a large, empty, and rather poorly maintained parking lot near large stacks of shipping containers and several dilapidated buildings. Penguin grimaces as the wind whips his hair about and he tugs his coat a bit closer. Really, is it too much to ask for a reasonable location for an exchange?

He's maintained his dignity in worse situations. Penguin keeps his posture proper and his expression story even as a car pulls up about fifty paces in front of him and a burly man exits the driver's seat. This low-level grunt doesn't scare him, nor does his wild brandishing of a classic glock. He's alone, which was his suggestion, though Penguin doesn't believe his partners aren't close by.

“I'm glad I didn't waste time suggesting we come unarmed,” he says, flippant and loud, and hopefully disarmingly boisterous. The man pauses by the trunk of the car, casting Penguin a wary glance before unlocking it and dragging Ed up with a hand on his upper arm. His head is still covered by the hood, and his arms are twisted behind his back. “I don’t have anything on me,” he says while holding open the flaps of his coat and pivots on his good leg, sparing Zsasz’s perch the briefest of glances when his back is turned. He whispers, “status, Victor.”

“He's got two guys on the warehouses about a hundred yards from you, boss,” Zsasz says in his ear. “Wind’s blowing pretty good up here. Going to take a minute.”

“Any sound will alert him,” he adds. He turns back around and plasters a fake, condescending smile on his face. (Zsasz’s quip of, “I know how to rapid shoot, boss,” makes him smile wider.) “I must say, this rash act really has interrupted my day very thoroughly,” he says as he turns back around. The man's brought Ed in front of him like a shield, one arm curled around his thin bicep, gripping into his dress shirt tightly and wrinkling the sleeve. “It takes a high level of confidence to take something of mine and expect a payoff.”

“We know the kid's important,” he says, jangling Ed's arm a bit. Penguin nods, which bolsters the man's inflated ego. “Where's the money?”

“Have you no tact?” Penguin asks rhetorically. “You'll have to pardon the pun, but you can't expect me accept his identity at face value.” He gestures to Ed, or “Ed” as he's currently billing him, though there's no mistaking that lanky frame. “Remove the hood.”

The man eyes Penguin the entire time, but he grabs the top of the hood and yanks it off. Ed squints up at the bright sun - his glasses are missing and he has a cut above one brow - and there's an overwhelming relief cutting through the confusion when he focuses on Penguin. Somehow, even after all he's been through he maintains a semblance of composure, at least until his captor kicks the back of his knees. With no way to brace his fall his knees impact with the hard cement and he cries out, and he would have fallen forward had the man not grabbed him by the hair.

“Where's the money?” he snaps, gun pressing against the back of Ed's head. He whimpers, just once, and if his eyes weren't squeezed so tight, no, there's a single tear, but he doesn't struggle. Smart boy.

“Since I assume you're planning to make this sort of activity lucrative in the future let me give you a few tips. Save the excessive violence for when someone resists your demands.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an envelope. “I have it here.”

The man sputters. “That's not five million!”

And now Penguin laughs, thoroughly condescending, at least until his grip on Ed's hair tightens. “You asked for five million cash, but also to have it  _ today _ . Do you not know how banks work? You can't just demand that amount of cash without 24 hour notice.” He begins limping closer, caneless in case the brute plans to accuse him of harboring a secret weapon. “I've taken the liberty of writing a check, and done you the service of calling ahead to alert the bank that you'll be cashing a large amount in the near future.”

“Got a chance at two for one, boss,” Zsasz rattles out. “Once in a lifetime-”

“Now,” he says loudly, and he keeps his volume elevated even as a single shot rings out across the empty space, “I for one do not plan on wasting any more time on this.” He holds out the check and shakes it a bit when the man continues searching the horizon instead of taking it. “Let me give you a hint, this is the part where you take the money and I take back my employee.”

The man, now bored with terrorizing Ed with his gun and searching for the source of the sound, snatches it away and starts wrestling with the envelope. Penguin looks down at Ed and gives him a quick wink while the man marvels down at the check. Ed swallows thickly, but he nods up at him. His one remaining captor pulls out a clunky walkie talkie and shouts his spoils at his now-dead companions, getting louder and more frustrated the longer they don’t respond.

“Hey, boss, sidestep like, two steps to your left,” Zsasz demands. “Got a decent shot but it’ll take your hair off.”

Penguin takes two steps to round Ed by his right shoulder, standing close enough to pull his head against his leg with a series of gentle pats. “Ed, I’d brace yourself.”

“Wh-” the man starts to question Penguin, but a quick  _ zip _ from over Penguin’s shoulder and he  _ drops _ . Ed gasps from the impact, pressing tighter against Penguin’s thigh and breathing hard and fast through his nose.

“Easy,” Penguin mutters, rubbing his fingers behind Ed’s ear. “Victor I need a status report.”

“Area’s clear,” he says, and Penguin lets out a long, low breath. “So are you going to pick me up, or-?”

“Get over here,” he snaps, and he pulls the earpiece out of his ear. He can’t risk lowering himself to the ground without potentially getting stuck there, so he grabs Ed by his right armpit and helps haul him up off the ground. He dusts Ed’s shirt off and grips his shoulders when he starts to swoon. “Are you alright?”

Penguin realizes Ed isn’t swooning, he’s trying to huddle, and he opens his arms to let Ed drop his face against his shoulder. “Zsasz is here too, he got them,” he says, hands shaking as he runs one hand over Ed’s back. He uses the other to feel for the bindings on Ed’s wrists and finds them to be simple, thin rope. “Hold still,” he says, as if Ed was planning on moving. Penguin pulls a pocket knife from his coat and, without dislodging Ed from his place burrowed against his chest, he carefully saws away at one of the loops until it snaps and the rest unwinds and falls away.

“Get in the car,” he tells Ed, gently, and Ed huffs against his shoulder once before stepping away and wringing his hands together. “Where are your glasses?”

“I,” he clams up and shakes his head. Penguin doesn’t pry. He keeps a hand on Ed’s back while they walk and opens the door for him so he can slide into the back.

“Just sit tight,” he says, and he shuts the door without waiting for Ed’s reply. Thunderous footsteps signal Zsasz’s approach, and he’s grinning until Penguin tosses him the keys, blinking down at the set and then back up at him. “I think it’s for the best.”

“Cool,” Zsasz says. He ambles over to the front passenger seat and sets his sniper rifle inside, then rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. Penguin’s joined Ed in the back by the time he starts the engine. “So uh, guessing you’re not going back to work.”

“Just drive,” he says as he hits the button to raise the partition. “I don’t care where.”

He’s not sure what to say when he’s alone with Ed in the back seat. There’s a tremble in his right hand even now, though not as badly. It’ll pass, or if it doesn’t he’s certainly escaped dangerous situations with worse permanent damage.

Ed may never hold a teacup properly again with how strong he’s quaking.

There’s a split second between Penguin placing a hand over Ed’s and Ed somehow clambering over to straddle his lap. He kisses Penguin, sloppy, messy, but there’s comfort in the way he feels so alive in Penguin’s lap. Penguin slips a hand up, touches his clammy cheek and holds it there, and his other is searching, exploring, and he settles on the row of buttons keeping him from touching Ed’s chest.

Ed sits up and starts fumbling with the lower half of his buttons, but once he's free of the garment it only helps Penguin see the nasty bruise on his chest, which is only partially covered by his undershirt. He makes a mournful sound, touching just outside the bruise's perimeter, and Ed sniffs wetly. His lower lip starts to tremble, and all the effort and energy Ed's been putting into maintaining his composure leaks out of him.

Penguin pulls him down until he's flush against his chest with his arms folded up between them. Penguin lowers the partition an inch, telling Zsasz, “bring us to the penthouse,” and not bothering to hear if he responds before putting it back up.


	10. Chapter 10

Penguin slips out of his bedroom without making a sound, careful to close the door just short of latching it and potentially waking Ed with the soft snick of the door latch. He doubles the knot of his robe before leaning on nearby walls to make his way to the large living space in the center of his penthouse, which is where he finds Zsasz sprawled out across the chaise with his sniper rifle on the couch to his left. He’s dismantled one of his pistols and is currently cleaning the individual parts, but when Penguin enters he spares him a brief glance and a nod as he throws himself into one of the plush armchairs adjacent to the chaise.

“I didn’t tell you to stay,” he says as he rubs the bridge of his nose. He’s been fighting a losing battle against a migraine for a couple hours now.

“Yeah, but if I’d left you would have yelled at me,” Zsasz says. He sets aside one piece and moves onto the barrel of his gun. “How’s the kid?”

“Asleep,” Penguin sighs, “or he’s pretending to sleep. Either way I can take a hint.”

“Can’t imagine college really prepares a guy for this,” Zsasz comments idly.

“What did your men find out?” Penguin asks. He’s not in the mood to indulge Zsasz, though he’s grateful for the man’s role in today’s events.

“Not much. Three grunts got a little too nosy and a lot too greedy. Found some new style of bug in their lieutenant’s office that got missed during sweeps.”

“As smart as that sounds they certainly were stupid to think this would go well,” he sighs. “And we’re confident they’re the source of the GCPD tips?”

“More or less,” Zsasz shrugs. “My guys are still out confirming, but one of the guys had a GCPD number in his cell.” He sets aside the pieces of his weapon on the table to his right. Penguin’s not all that comfortable with just how serious his normally insubordinate head of security looks when he says, “you know this looks real good for some sort of elaborate long con, boss. Pretty convenient all the guys that could have been coerced into spilling are dead.”

“And you’re suggesting that _Ed_ has somehow orchestrated this whole master plan, hm?” Penguin hums. “Did _you_ spend two hours in there,” he points to the bedroom, “with him?”

“It was three,” Zsasz says, and Penguin gestures in a ‘there you go’ manner. “I’m just saying it because my people are going to say it, boss.”

“If Ed _has_ managed such a feat I’d be more than willing to overlook this enormous slight in order to find out his price to double cross the GCPD for us,” he says. He can still feel Ed’s vice grip on his robe, the way he just couldn’t stop shaking even _hours_ after his rescue. “I sincerely doubt he has the know-how to make this work, let alone the pull with my men.” He drops one hand to his lap with an audible smack, though the impact is muffled through multiple layers of fabric. “What on _earth_ does calling my shipments in do for these men?”

“Distraction, payoff from the GCPD, maybe both,” Zsasz posits. “You and the kid were busy trying to suss out what lieutenant would turn. Didn’t put as much focus on the little guys. Might want to pay the GCPD a little visit, see if some of the payload got skimmed off the top. Can’t hurt.”

Penguin shakes his head. “I’d be begrudgingly impressed if I wasn’t so _furious_.” He sighs. “I suppose Ed looked like a natural escalation.”

“Maybe he was onto something.”

“One would hope,” Penguin sighs. “Do you think they knew?”

“Knew?”

“That,” Penguin scoffs, “that our relationship isn’t strictly professional.”

Zsasz shrugs. “Maybe. Even if they didn’t you _did_ promote him pretty fast.”

“This is what I get for recognizing talent,” he laments. Zsasz, ever the conversationalist, just keeps staring. “What.”

“You never did answer me,” he says. Penguin tries and fails to backtrack in the conversation through his headache, and it must show, because Zsasz sighs and fills him in. “What’s _next_ , boss? Extra security detail? Getting him a gun? Are you two going to be attached at the hip?”

“I was thinking a bit farther, actually,” he says under his breath. “Victor, I cannot do this again,” he says plaintively, and after a bit of frowning Victor nods.

“Well, we got a couple people in Star City that still support your empire.”

“It’s only two hours away.” He’ll not read about Ed’s disappearance or demise in the Star Tribune some Sunday morning. “And we have contacts, but we don’t have protective detail in Star City.” He looks to Zsasz, feeling rather irritable but not at him, just at the series of events that’s brought him to this moment. “This is where you give me an alternative plan, Victor.”

He tips his head back and taps at his chin, pseudo-thoughtful but then he actually speaks. “How’s Europe?”

“Europe?” He blinks. “Well, it’s certainly far enough.”

“I got this cousin. He’s, eh,” Zsasz grimaces, “but the guy’s good with a gun, super friendly.” The more he describes this ‘cousin’ the queasier he looks. “Haven’t spoken for a few months but I can make it happen.”

“You’re certain?”

“Course,” Zsasz says with confidence. “I’ll make the call, he’ll fly his cheerful butt over here, and then he’ll whisk your boy off to Europe before anyone else gets any funny ideas.”

Penguin throws up his hands with something between surrender and feeling fed up with his lack of options. “Make it happen.”

Zsasz nods and collects the pieces of his pistol and his sniper rifle before ambling out of the living space and slamming the front door as he leaves. Penguin settles back in his chair and groans as his eyes slide shut.

He listens to the ambient sounds of his penthouse, focusing on the visually appealing but functionally useless sounds of the water feature near the balcony, the gentle tick of an old heirloom clock on the far wall (it clashes terribly but he’s sentimental, go figure), and the soft, scuffle-slap of feet on the tile. By the time he realizes that isn’t a normal sound and opens his eyes Ed is already standing in front of him, and he’s dragged the top comforter off Penguin’s king sized bed along behind him in a childlike yet endearing way.

“You weren’t there,” he says, croaky, and he clears his throat.

“Victor and I were discussing some important matters and I thought it was best to let you sleep.” Penguin pushes himself to one side of his chair and pats the other half, certain Ed won’t mind a bit of close contact and also craving a bit of it himself. He’ll have to give it up again soon so he might as well savor what little bit he can still have. And Ed is quick to join him and make himself at home against Penguin’s side, though the blanket isn’t doing much good tucked under his arm and pooled around their feet.

“There’s something we need to discuss,” Penguin says. He trails a finger through Ed’s hair just behind his ear, following the line that should be occupied by the arm of his glasses but won’t be for another day or two, depending on how much his griping can speed up the process. “As stressful and upsetting as today was, I think you can agree that it was somewhat enlightening.”

“I um,” Ed shakes his head, “sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Gotham isn’t safe for you,” Penguin says. “You’re intelligent, and a vital part of my empire, but you aren’t made for this world.” How foolish he’d been thinking Ed would develop the thick skin required to survive in this business. “I’ve done this before, and with varying levels of success,” he rushes out, “but each time it _was_ a success, Ed.”

“What is _it_ , exactly?”

“You have to leave,” he whispers. “And not just the city. I’ve been in this business for half my life, and I’m well known in several states.” The more he talks the more Ed shakes and the tighter Penguin holds him against his side. “Victor has a contact in Europe. He’s contacting them now, and you’ll be leaving-”

“No,” Ed interrupts, soft and unsure.

“This isn’t a negotiation, Ed. Your safety-”

“No,” he repeats, more firmly this time, and he pulls away in order to sit up. “I, I have-” he huffs- “I have one last veto, and I’m using it. I can’t, Gotham is my home and-” he cuts himself off and kisses Penguin, and he leaves their foreheads touching when he pulls back. “I won’t leave.”

“Alright, okay,” Penguin barks out a laugh full of disbelief and relief. “I hope you know this will complicate security terribly,” he sighs, already far too fond of this young man for his own good.

-

Though his routine is anything but Penguin continues to dress to impress, even if his only audience is Zsasz greeting him with a curt nod as he exits the elevator for his building to enter the apartment directly below the penthouse.

“I trust the night went smoothly,” he says in a rare bout of friendliness. Zsasz really is putting more effort into the added protection than Penguin ever hoped for. He’ll have to figure out some sort of bonus for him when he has time to think.

“Kept hearing weird noises,” Zsasz says calmly, and Penguin’s heart falls out of his chest, “but every time I went in-boss really if there was something wrong I would have woken you up.”

“I am _fine_.”

“Well, your boy’s just found a new hobby or something.” Zsasz side-eyes the door warily. “Kind of a noisy one.”

“I’ll be sure to inquire,” Penguin says, and he pats Zsasz’s lapel as he unlocks the door and enters Ed’s modest but still sizable living space. “I hear you’ve kept yourself busy,” he calls into the space as he nears a set of long folding tables set up in the center of the room, which are littered with small electronic and mechanical parts, and Ed in some casual work clothes, standing between them and flitting back and forth in a sleep-deprived, manic fit. He only looks up from whatever work he’s made for himself when Penguin is a few steps away and clears his throat loudly. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Ed mumbles. The bags under his eyes are worse every day, but he flashes a cheeky, crooked grin at Penguin that cuts through the exhaustion and tips him farther into mania. “I figured something out last night.”

“I hope it was something along the lines of, ‘I really should start getting proper sleep again’,” Penguin says as he fiddles with a large spring on one of the tables, “though, Ed would you look up for a moment please,” he reaches out and tilts Ed’s face away from his little contraptions and leaves it on his cheek, “the fact that a week isn’t long enough to fully recover is _fine_ , of course. Don’t for a _moment_ think it isn’t.”

“It isn’t that,” Ed says softly. He lets his head lean into Penguin’s hand and closes his eyes, and then he snaps upright and drops his tools, a wrench and a pair of needle nose pliers, onto the table. “Or, I suppose it is but I know that’s fine, or at least you say it’s fine.” His mania wavers and so does his stability; Ed’s eyes unfocus for a moment and he sways on his feet far enough that Penguin envisions having to heroically catch him before he brains himself on some of the equipment on the table. Ed shakes his head violently and the fear for his verticality passes. “I’m having trouble getting past it. there’s a,” he waves a hand and nearly knocks over a metal canister of something, and Penguin takes it as a sign and grabs Ed’s bare forearm and drag him away from his work tables if he’s going to gesticulate so wildly. “Oh, thank you,” he says after a few confused blinks. “Like I was _saying_ -”

“Ed, please,” he interrupts, “whatever it is can wait until you’ve rested.”

“It’s a mental block,” Ed sputters out. He’s not exactly resisting Penguin’s pull towards his bedroom, but when they reach the door frame he digs in his heals, physically and otherwise. “Penguin, wait please, I have to _explain._ ”

“You need rest,” Penguin says. “I’ll give you as much time as you need to recover, you know that, but I need my star officer back working on distributions one of these days.”

“And I will, I promise.” Ed rubs his grimy, greasy hands over his face and drags four lines down each cheek. “I just want to explain myself, and I’ll rest. I’ve hit a snag and need more parts anyway.”

“More parts for _what_ , exactly?”

“That’s what I want to explain,” he says, and his confidence is enough to get Penguin to step back and give Ed a bit of space to wander while he talks. “See, the problem isn’t the kidnapping.”

“I think that’s arguable,” Penguin sniffs.

“Well, yes, but I’m not hung up on _that_ , sir. It’s,” he huffs, “see, it’s because I didn’t have a direct hand in any sort of retaliation. I was helpless,” he sighs, wringing his hands around some imaginary thing. “I don’t like feeling that way, but I can’t exactly _do_ something to get back at those men.”

“Zsasz saw to that,” Penguin says.

“Right,” Ed nods, “but see, the root cause, the thing that brought me here and led to this happening-” Penguin’s breath catches in his throat, and Ed notices through the fog of exhaustion. “Not that I regret it, sir, I want to be here. I meant that a week ago, and I mean that now.” Penguin lets out the breath he was holding in a rush. “See, the reason this happened goes back farther, back to-”

“College?” Penguin guesses.

“Exactly!” Ed laughs, jabbing out one finger, and then settling back down just as fast. “I couldn’t do anything then. I was mortified, and alone, and- well you understand. But now,” he grins, “I just need to come up with the right plan for each of them.”

“So that,” he glances over his shoulder to the tables of parts and gestures vaguely, “all of that is for revenge.”

“Yes, sir, if,” and this is the first time Ed’s looked unsure since Penguin got here. “if you’re alright with me doing this, at least.”

Penguin shrugs. “Why not,” he says. “I’m glad you’ve found an outlet for your distress.” As unorthodox as his methods look he’s finally growing that backbone Penguin’s been hoping for, and yet at its core Ed’s plan is still very much _his._ “I didn’t realize you have a mechanical background.”

“I was involved in science, you know, fairs and whatnot,” Ed says, waving off the inquiry. “I’m not going to _kill_ anyone, of course.”

“Of course,” Penguin nods and pats Ed’s chest. “The punishment should fit the crime, after all, but Ed, for me, why don’t we postpone this little plan of yours for now,” he says, low and steady, as his hand moves down to the hem of Ed’s tee shirt and starts rucking it up around his waist. “Even a mastermind deserves a bit of rest and recuperation.”

Ed gulps, and his hands twitch, unsure where to go but knowing that griming up Penguin’s nice clothes with his messy hands is a no go. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Alright.”

“Good,” Penguin coos soft in Ed’s ear. “Now why don’t you wash up for me,” he says, “and we’ll get to the recuperation after.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be the last, and thankfully (like this one) I actually know what I'm doing for it so the wait shouldn't be forever. Thank you all for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Penguin ruffles through a stack of water stained and wrinkled notes, feeling his hopes sink along with his head as he drops it into his hand. He tosses one that is, quite frankly, an unintelligible mess. Ed must have written it after popping up from a dead sleep or blindfolded. Either he’s begun selling “ballets” since he last looked at his inventory or it’s supposed to be Zsasz’s bullets shipment he’s been whining about for the past couple days.

Ed’s trying, really he is, but his progress is less than ideal. He’s sidestepped into something resembling normalcy excluding the strange contraptions he’s been building and the scrawled notes and bouts of sleepless hermit behavior.

Scratch that, and whatever a “lorge simpent” is. Penguin balls up the paper and tosses it across his office. He can’t keep pretending this is working when he has to struggle to read Ed’s notes for a full hour before giving up and going back to the apartment building and making him sit down long enough to decipher his writings.

(Of course there are some other benefits to going to Ed rather than dragging him into his office but his empire isn’t worth losing over a tryst.)

“Victor!” he calls out, and Zsasz saunters in with one hand in a pocket and his phone against his ear. He pulls a face and gestures to it with vague disgust. “Who are you calling?”

“Boss, you made me open a floodgate,” he whisper/groans while holding the bottom away from his mouth. “Do something,” he hisses.

Penguin sits back and smirks at Zsasz’s distress. “Still fielding calls from that cousin of yours?”

“Can’t get a word in,” he sighs. “You sure we can't send the kid his way? Guy gets too chatty when he's lonely.”

Penguin mock-considers Zsasz's plea, making a show of tapping his finger against his chin and humming loudly as Zsasz grumbles. “You could always being him here, you know.”

Zsasz shakes his head firmly and snaps off a quick, “boss is looking at me like he has a job, gotta go,” and hangs up. “He's not coming here.”

“Worried he might replace you?”

“You threaten to get rid of me all the time,” Zsasz says, “but you'd actually do it to him.”

“I'll take your word for it,” Penguin says. As Zsasz turns away he calls out, “I do have a job for you, Victor. I'd like Ed brought here.”

Zsasz smirks. “Change of scenery for your nooner, boss?”

“A noo-? No!” Penguin sputters, “just, no Victor. No. I can't make sense of these,” he shakes the notes, “and I'd love for my empire to stay afloat.”

“Uh huh.”

“Go get him!” he snaps. “Don't think I would even hesitate to hire your cousin and bring him here.”

He stares Zsasz down, reveling in his queasy expression, and then smirking with triumph when Zsasz turns and leaves without another comment.

-

Victory is fleeting and short lived. Zsasz’s return isn’t swift, and his eventual phone call about sends Penguin falling out of his chair when he jumps up from his slouched fidgeting to answer. “Victor! I swear if you-”

“Boss,” Zsasz interrupts, “look, don’t freak out-” as if he can do anything  _ but  _ when he says this- “but he’s not here. But!” he’s shooting out an explanation before Penguin even remembers to breathe, “but he left a note, so uh-”

“What does it say,” Penguin breathes, and repeats himself louder.

“It’s addressed to  _ you _ , boss. I’m not reading his love note.”

“You don’t,” Penguin sighs, “fine.”

“Room’s not trashed or anything but uh,” Zsasz trails off, “I dunno boss you might want to just come over.”

He does and he doesn’t, but Penguin mumbles out an affirmative and hangs up. The ride over is a numb hole in his day, but the blank sensation makes the time pass by in an instant. By the time he's registered the city beyond his car window he's already back at the apartment building, jamming one thumb into the up button furiously as he waits for the elevator to reach the lobby.

Zsasz is standing just outside the door, and when Penguin storms closer he holds up an envelope with Ed’s messy scrawl on the front. Penguin accepts it, blinking down at the oddity before tearing it open and sending some loose newspaper clippings to the floor along with a single page, tightly packed note. He reaches down and handles the edges of it carefully and squints at the paper until the scribbles start forming actual words.

“He’s gone somewhere,” Penguin sighs, “but I can’t read where. At least it seems to be of his own accord.”

“Got a lot of stalker shit that fell out too,” Zsasz indicates the newspaper clippings with the toe of his boot. “You should see the apartment.”

The twin folding tables in the living space are missing a few of the larger pieces Ed’s been fiddling with for the last couple weeks, but there are several grease stains and something that looks suspiciously like a small scorch mark surrounding a melted, warped pockmark in the center of one side. Penguin runs a finger around the perimeter and grimaces at the greasy soot that comes up with it, and he moves onto some hand drawn blueprints cast aside on a nearby chair.

He can’t make sense of the design, though there are several moving parts and something that is awfully similar to some medieval torture devices, but with a bit of modern flair. Each design is similar to the last, though all have certain additions that set them apart from the last. A long, swinging arm, a triple blade with jagged edges; whatever Ed’s designed these items for feels personal, and in the corner of each blueprint is the messy scrawl of a name.

“They match,” Zsasz points out as he starts spreading out the blueprints when Penguin sets them aside and setting a single newspaper clipping on top. “You got any ideas?”

“He told me he wanted revenge, and he’s doing it his way,” Penguin says, continuing to praise Ed’s efforts even as the words make him ache. “It’s an important step in his career by my side, Victor, and you have to look past the oddity at face value to truly appreciate the marvel we’re witnessing unfold. Why, in a few day’s time I’m sure Ed will have made a name for himself with this plan of his. He really is becoming quite the go getter. Such an admirable trait. I’m pleased I could pass it onto him.”

-

When Zsasz slides the paper in front of his downturned face two mornings later he doesn’t even register shock, just a bland, burning sensation of guilt and remorse as he reads the headline ‘Edward Nygma Committed to Arkham Asylum’, and the short article detailing his unfortunate miscalculation involving a poor woman’s car, one of his contraptions, and a mile long hospital bill Penguin’s empire is quietly footing after securing several NDAs from all involved.

-

Arkham’s visitor’s room is a dingy, drippy little hellhole with one grimy window and a snarling, grumpy guard glaring at Penguin as he saunters into the room and pauses when he catches sight of the unruly curls that have become the back of Ed’s attractive undercut. He ignores the pointed cough attempting to move him along and produces a single slim envelope, slipping into the man’s left breast pocket and patting his chest twice until he gets the message and steps out of the room. Ed still hasn’t turned around, and he still doesn’t look up from an odd stain on the table until after Penguin’s sat down across from them. After just a second glance, he bows his head deeply with shame.

“You look like you’ve finally rested,” Penguin says, indicating the lack of dark circles under his eyes.

“I did, or, I was sedated, sir.” Ed’s voice is rough, cracking with an apparent disuse.

“I suppose that counts for something,” Penguin sighs, shaking his head mournfully. “What are we going to  _ do  _ with you, Ed Nygma?”

“I let you down,” Ed says with little inflection. He’s alarmingly blank faced, aside from shame. He certainly has plenty of that to go around. “You told me,” he bites his lip, “a Penguin man is fashionable, um, and-”

“I believe it was fashionable, intelligent, and the one I believe most relevant, subtle, though Arkham’s stripes aren’t exactly  _ in  _ this season.” He takes a folded copy of Ed’s headline from his pocket and unfolds it before setting it between them. “You are right, though. Whatever you were going for with this plan of yours, subtly was far from your mind.”

“It was stupid,” Ed says sharply, “and ridiculous.  _ Crazy, _ ” he snarls out, “or they wouldn’t have sent me  _ here  _ for it.” And then his anger deflates. Those wide, naive eyes look up at Penguin with a great grief behind a sheet of wetness. “I un-” he chokes up, and clears his throat before continuing in a level tone. “I assume this means we’re no longer affiliated. I under-”

“It’s like you’ve learned nothing,” Penguin laughs. Ed sucks in his lower lip and slouches. “Doing all this assuming and declaring on my behalf.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Do you know what I see when I see this article?” Penguin muses, running a finger along the photo of a mangled car. He didn’t even know they could fold quite that way with a relatively small application of force. “It’s raw, certainly, but I think you’re ignoring what  _ else  _ there is to see.” He tips Ed’s chin up with one finger. “So I’m going to tell you what I see and, no- stop that, Ed, I am not going to allow this coy behavior-” he keeps his head in place to keep their eyes locked. “I see the signs of an untapped potential. An ingenuity unseen in my empire to date. Of course it’s unpolished, and I’ve overlooked your lack of instruction in subtlety,  _ obviously _ , but there is a very intriguing side of you I haven’t gotten to be acquainted with.”

“Intriguing?”

“Don’t think I’m ignoring whatever this was,” he pushes the article forward. Ed looks away, and when he returns his focus his cheeks are newly pinked. “Potential aside I’m not fond of the lack of restraint.”

“I don’t want to fell helpless,” he whispers.

“And I don’t want that either. Lucky for you I can help with that.” He twirls a bit of Ed’s messy bangs with one finger until it keeps the shape. “And here I thought you carried a certain innocence despite your profession. Why, Ed, you could be downright  _ devious _ with the right guidance,” he says with just the right amount of praise to bring out Ed’s crooked smile. He sits back in his chair and straightens his clothes. “Things will have to be different, of course.” Ed’s smile droops, but he doesn’t interject. “You certainly were ambitious with this project but your execution needs work.”

“Sir?”

“Any future projects of this nature will need the right balance of elegance, poise, and,” he trails off, gesturing to Ed to finish.

“Subtlety?”

“Exactly,” Penguin beams. “I knew intelligence would never be the issue.” A smile, bright, but also sneaky. “You’ll balance these little projects with distributions, of course.”

“Of course,” he parrots. “Wait, what about Arkham?”

Penguin taps his chin. “What is their little sentence they came up with for you?”

“Life,” Ed mutters, “or, I suppose they’ll accept sanity, or near sanity. Not being a danger, at least, sir.”

“Hm, well, I can’t have one of my own in such a sub par facility. I wouldn’t get too comfortable, because I’ll be getting you a transfer to something a bit more private and personal while you work through this little lapse in your otherwise impeccable sanity.” He winks, and Ed grins his toothy, not so innocent but still endearing, grin. Penguin pushes his chair back and stands, and Ed does the same. “Now I do  _ hate  _ to leave so suddenly but I’m going to be quite busy. If only paperwork had the sense to just fill itself out,” he jokes. His delivery could have used some flourish but it’s not why Ed doesn’t look amused. Penguin drags Ed’s gangly frame down into a one armed hug that Ed returns with all he’s got. In no uncertain terms is Penguin planning on cutting this particular part out of their relationship, and he imparts that certainty by making Ed turn for a kiss. Ed is, predictably, over the moon afterwards. “I can’t promise everything will be smooth from here on out but I will assure you, Ed, that it’ll be interesting, although Europe will always remain an option should you develop the desire to get out.”

“Thank you, Penguin,” Ed breathes. “I mean it. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“Hm,” Penguin tips his head in mock thoughts. “Here’s a thought. See, after the ingenuity I’ve seen over the past few weeks I think we have the potential to form a true partnership, and I think such a close working and,” he chuckles, “recreational relationship should be reflected another, less obvious way. Excluding having you by my side of course.”

“Another, like, um-”

“Familiarity, Ed.” No sense letting the boy go down  _ that  _ path. “We've clung to formality long enough, don't you think? And personally, I'm not too fond of the paper’s horrid attempts to give you a nickname. The Mechanic, so uncreative,” he scoffs. “You're welcome to form a title name like my own, of course, but between you and me I think I'd prefer if you used my ah, let's call it a nickname. Ozzie.” The moment it's out he wants to snatch it back, but Ed's sheer delight stops him, at least in part. “In private, of course. Can't let professionalism lapse when there's work to be done.”

“Of course,” Ed says, dipping a bit closer to whisper, “Ozzie.”

“Right,” Penguin hums. “Well then, let's get started.”


End file.
